Sis 


S'Xs 


, 


mm 

1 


THE 


SMOKED 


YANK, 


BT 


MELVIN  GRIGSBY. 


sioux  FALLS: 

DAKOTA  BELL  PUBLISHING  CO. 

iSSS. 


COPYRIGHT  i8S8t 

BY 
MELVIN  GR1GSBY. 


Dedication. 

To  the  Real  Chivalry  of  the  South,  the  old  "Runties"  and  "Uncles 

find 

Ualorous  Young  Men, 
Illho  so  Generously  and  Bravely, 

fit  the  Risk  of  Cruel  Punishment  and  Sometimes  of  Lifs, 
Fed  and  Unarmed  and  Hid  and  Guided, 

Escaped  Union  Prisoners, 
As  a  Token  of  Gratitude,  this  Little  Uolume 

Is 
Tenderly  Dedicated 

Sy  the  Author. 


202GS87 


PUBLISHER'S  'NOTICE. 


Not  long  ago  the  publisher  of  this  book  and  several  others  met  in  the 
office  of  Mr.  Grigsby.  The  subject  of  our  conversation  was  the  reviving 
interest  in  war  stories  and  reminiscences,  evidenced  by  the  prominence  given 
to  that  class  of  literature  by  all  the  leading  magazines  of  the  day.  Inci- 
dently,  Mr.  Grigsby  remarked  that  he  had,  in  manuscript,  a  book  written 
several  years  ago,  narrating  what  his  sons  called,  his  "  Adventures  in  the 
War,"  which  he  designed,  sometime,  to  have  published  in  pamphlet  form 
for  distribution  among  his  relatives  and  friends. 

Having  previously  heard  that  his  experiences  as  a  soldier  were  of  an 
unusually  varied  and  interesting  character,  my  curiosity  was  aroused  and, 
yielding  to  my  solicitations,  Mr.  Grigsby  finally  permitted  me  to  see  his 
manuscript.  A  careful  reading  convinced  me  that  were  it  published  in 
book  form  it  would  meet  with  a  favorable  reception,  not  only  by  the 
relatives  and  personal  friends  of  the  author,  but  also  by  thousands  of 
veterans  and  sons  of  veterans,  by  all,  in  fact,  who  take  an  interest  in  the 
stirring  incidents  of  our  civil  war. 

Frankly  believing  this,  I  pei'suaded  Mr.  Grigsby,  to  have  the  book 
published  under  the  title  of  "  The  Smoked  Yank,"  and  agreed  to  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  success  of  the  enterprise.  Whether  or  not  my  judgment 
was  well-founded,  is  for  the  public  to  determine. 

To  my  request  for  a  preface,  the  author  replied :  "  You  have  assumed 
the  responsibility,  and  if  you  deem  that  explanations  or  apologies  are  due 
the  reader,  make  them  yourself."  The  publisher  has  none  to  offer. 

SAM  T.  CLOVER. 

Sioux  FALLS,  DAKOTA,  May,  1888. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAGE. 

Tells  How  this  Book  Came  to  be  Written. 13 

CHAPTER  II. 
I  Rebel  in  Order  to  Fight  Rebellion  — "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me."  -        17 

CHAPTER    III. 

Camp  Washburn  —  I  Get  My  Name  in  Print  —  Privates  Eat  Sandwiches 
in  the  Rain,  While  Officers  have  Champagne  Under  Shelter  —  Benton 
Barracks  —  On  the  March  —  I  Make  a  Rash  Promise.  -  -  25 

CHAPTER    IV. 

Helena  —  A  Slave  Owner  in  a  Bad  Fix  —  "Forninst  the  Government  "- 
Plantation  Records  —  Memphis,  Prohibition  in  the  Army  —  Helping  a 
Friend  to  Beat  the  Quartermaster.       -         ...  31 

CHAPTER  V. 

Vicksburg — Another  Case  of  Beating  U.S.  —  A  Runaway  Horse  Carries 
Me  Into  Close  Quarters — Jackson  and  Canton  —  Have  Trouble  with 
Uncle  Tommy  and  Leave  the  Regiment.  ....  38 

CHAPTER  VI. 

I  Get  a  Leave  of  Absence  and  Have  Some  Fun  with  the  Boys  —  Helping 
Planters  to  Market  Cotton  —  "An  Atheist's  Laugh's  a  Poor  Exchange 
for  Deity  Offended "  —  Captured  by  Guerillas.  ...  ^ 

CHAPTER   VII. 

Samples  of  Chivalry — Joking  with  a  Johnny — -  Helping  to  Fill  Up  the 
Sets  —  A  Wearisome  March  Without  Food,  Except  for  Reflection — 

Too  Angry  to  Eat,       -  55 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
"To  the  Victor  Belongs  the  Spoils"  —  I  Lose  My  Suspenders  —  A  Jolly 

Rebel  Rascal  —  A  Captain  of  the  Horse  Marines.        -        -  66 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Moved  to  Cahaba,  Alabama — A  Little  Leaven  for  the  Loaf  —  I  Borrow 
Books,  Write  Notes,  and  Become  Sentimental  —  A  Promising  Ro- 
mance Nipped  in  the  Bud.  -  -  -  73 

CHAPTER  X. 

Cahaba  Re-visited  in  1884  — A  Delightful  Ride  —  The  Freedmen  of  the 
South  —  A  Deserted  Village  —  An  Old  Mansion  —  Mrs.  Gardner, 
"  The  Friend  of  the  Unfortunate."  -  -  -  - '  -  -  -  78 

CHAPTER  XI. 

We  Leave  Cahaba  —  A  Song  Battle  —  "Let  the  Damn  Yanks  Starve" — 
We  Enter  Andersonville — Walking  Mummies  and  Smoked  Skele- 
tons —  Discouraging  Prospects. -  88 

CHAPTER  XII. 
"Answer  at   Roll-Call,  Draw  Rations,  and  Fight  Lice  —  Scenes  at  the 

Dead-Line.         -  -         -         96 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Extra  Rations  — Flanking-Out  —  Cooked  Rations  —  The  Huckster's  Cry 
and  the  Peddler's  Call  — The  Plymouth  Pilgrims  —  Dead  Yankees 
Become  Articles  of  Merchandise  —  I  Buy  a  Corpse  and  Taste  Pure 
Air — Repeating.  -  99 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Raiders  —  "  Limber  Jim  "  —  The  Regulators  —  Execution  of  the 
Raiders.  m 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Escapes  —  Blood-Hounds  —  Tortures  —  Digging  Tunnels  —  A  Benedict 
Arnold  —  Shooting  a  Cripple  —  The  Hospital  —  Sick-Call  —  A  Small- 
Pox  Scare  I2O 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Condition  of  Prison  in  July  and  August— Rebel  Statistics  —  Why    We 

Were  Not  Exchanged  —  Andersonville  Revenged  —  This  a  Republic.  127 
CHAPTER  XVII. 

Outlines  of  a  Picture. i;j6 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

How  I  Manage  to  Live  — My  Bunk-Mate  Goes  to  the  Hospital  —  I  Secure 
a  Comer  Lot  and  Get  Into  Trade  —  Sherman's  Fine-Tooth  Combs 
and  Scissors  —  Removal  to  Florence,  South  Carolina.  -  -  -  140 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

I  Go  for  Water  and  Escape  —  A  Faithful  People  —  A  Novel  Character  — 

A  Comical  Hero.  149 

CHAPTER  XX. 
"Hell    Hath    No    Fury     Like   a  Woman   Scorned"  —  A    Badly   Scared 

Negro  —  Captured  By  a  Fourteen- Year-Old  Boy  —  In  a  Felon's  Cell.  159 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Another  Stockade — A  Meaner  Man  Than  Wirz  — Out  On  Parole — The 

Smuggled  Steer  —  Notes  From  a  Diary.  169 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Parole  of   Honor   Played   Out  —  A  Scheme  For  Escape  —  All  is  Fair  in 
Love  and   War — Bribing  a  Yankee  With  a  Rebel's  Money  - — I  go 

After  Shakes  and  Do  Not  Return. 181 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Blood- Hounds  in  Sight  —  Wake  Up  the  Wrong  Family —  Gentlemen  of 
(Very  Little)  Color  — I  Play  That  I  Am  a  Slave  Owner  and  Talk 

With  Rebel  Soldiers.  * 190 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  Pressing  Invitation  —  I  Paddle  a  Canoe  —  Am  Caught  in  a  "  Niggah 
Qua'tah"  —  A  Chivalrous   Lady   Pleads  My  Cause  —  A  Night  in  a 

Swamp.  196 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
I    Steal   Mules   and   Take  a  Ride—  A    Well   Laid   Scheme  "Gang  Aft 

Aglee" — Some  Dangerous  Places  —  Crossing  the  Salkahatchie.  207 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
"  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me "  —  The  Grand  Old  Flag  and  the  Boys  in 

Blue  —  I  Am  Dubbed  The  Smoked  Y~ank.         -----       219 


THE  SMOKED  YANK. 


THE  SMOKED  YANK 


CHAPTER   I. 

TELLS  HOW  THIS  BOOK  CAME  TO  BE  WRITTEN. 

For  nearly  twenty  years  I  have  been  about  to  write  this 
book.  I  came  home  from  the  war  in  1865,  a  boy  of  only 
twenty  years,  but  with  a  discharge  that  showed  almost  four 
years  service  in  the  army.  How  vividly  I  recall  this  scene — 
getting  off  the  the  stage  at  my  native  village  I  started  to  my 
country  home  on  foot.  Ascending  a  hill,  I  saw  over  the  top 
a  team  coming  towards  me,  Kit  and  Betty,  old  friends  of  my 
boyhood.  My  first  rides  were  on  their  backs.  But  who  is 
driving?  Can  it  be  father?  He  looks  too  old  to  be  father. 
I  stopped  in  the  road.  The  bowed  head  was  raised.  Who 
could  paint  the  changes  that  came  over  his  face  as  he  came 
toward  me.  He  has  told  me  since  that  he  was  thinking  of  me 
and  wondering  if  he  would  ever  hear  of  me  again,  when,  rais- 
ing his  head  to  try  and  drive  away  his  sorrowful  thoughts,  he 
saw  me  standing  in  the  road.  His  lost  boy.  More  than  a 
year  of  anxious  watching  and  waiting  since  those  lines  had 
been  received  saying,  "  Your  son  has  been  taken  prisoner," 
and  in  all  that  time  not  another  word,  and  then  when  trying 
to  resolve  to  give  me  up,  to  raise  his  eyes  and  see  me  stand- 
ing in  the  road,  it  was  indeed  a  surprise. 

My  sons,  never  keep  back  glad  tidings  from  anxious 
parents  to  give  them  a  greater  surprise.  I  ought  to  have  sent 
them  word  of  my  safety  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  after 


I4  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

reaching  the  Union  lines.  That  was  twenty  years  ago 'and 
your  grandfather  looks  as  young  today  as  he  did  then — he 
had  been  worrying.  Coming  home  from  the  war  an  escaped 
prisoner — supposed  to  have  died  in  Andersonville,  I  told  my 
story  very  willingly  to  willing  ears  for  awhile  and  then  it  got 
to  be  tedious  even  to  me. 

For  several  weeks  I  was  the  hero  of  that  neighborhood. 
Visitors  thronged  to  my  father's  house  to  see  the  escaped  pris- 
oner and  to  hear  of  Andersonville  and  other  rebel  prison  pens, 
and  of  my  escape.  To  each  new  party,  I  told  the  story  until 
to  me  it  grew  old  and  stale,  and,  to  avoid  continuous  repeti- 
tion, I  declared  my  intention  of  writing  it  up  for  publication. 
When  I  tried  to  do  so,  I  found  that  to  hold  a  little  audience  of 
friends  and  relatives  in  seeming  rapt  attention,  was  vastly 
easier  than  to  write  a  connected  and  readable  narrative  of  the 
same  incidents.  I  often  began  but  never  advanced  to  the  end 
of  a  satisfactory  beginning,  and  finally  postponed  the  work 
until  I  should  acquire  through  reading  and  education  a  better 
command  of  language. 

Thus  I  became  a  veritable  procrastinator — though  con- 
tinually postponed,  the  purpose  of  writing  my  experiences  in 
the  war  and  publishing  the  narrative  in  book  form  was  always 
present — I  was  always  about  to  begin.  To  new  friends  and 
acquaintances  of  my  school  life,  I  would  occasionally  relate 
some  incident  of  prison  life  or  escape  and  seldom  found  unwill- 
ing ears  to  listen,  or  lack  of  encouragement  when  I  mentioned 
my  intention  of  writing  a  book.  Whether  they  were,  many  of 
them,  bored  by  my  monopolizing  the  conversation  and  making 
myself  the  big  ego,  and  thought  the  readiest  way  to  escape 
further  infliction  was  to  advise  and  encourage  the  book  plan, 
has  often  since  been  a  question  in  my  mind,  especially  when  I 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  15 

have  realized  how  easily  I  find  it  to  be  thoroughly  bored  in  a 
similar  way. 

Nevertheless,  that  self-appointed  task  was  never  more 
than  postponed.  It  has  continued  to  be  both  my  waking 
dream  and  the  cause  of  much  self-condemnation  for  not  having 
performed  the  work  earlier. 

At  first  the  fancied  distinction  to  be  acquired  was  prob- 
ably my  strongest  inducement  to  write.  Later  the  idea  of 
great  gain  by  means  of  such  a  book  was  not  absent.  But  now 
as  I  begin,  1  trust  for  the  last  time,  to  carry  out  the  long- 
cherished  and  often  abandoned  scheme,  neither  the  desire  for 
notoriety  nor  the  hope  of  gain  is  the  moving  cause. 

Other  hopes  and  dreams  and  plans  of  those  twenty  years 
that  are  gone  have  not  been  fruitless — my  home  is  not  now 
my  father's  house — there  has  been  a  cradle  in  my  own,  babies 
on  my  knee,  and,  now  two  boys,  one  nine  and  one  ten,  with 
the  life  of  Alexander,  of  Hannibal,  and  of  Caesar  fresh  in  mind, 
are  ever  teasing  me  to  tell  them  of  my  life  as  a  soldier. 

"  P-apa,  did  you  have  any  adventures  when  you  were  in 
the  war?"  says  Sioux.  "  O,  yes,  I  had  a  good  many  such  as 
they  were."  "  Tell  them  to  us,"  says  George,  "  we  would 
rather  hear  about  yours  than  read  those  in  books."  And  when 
I  tell  them  some  and  then  speak  of  time  for  bed,  I  know  from 
the  look  of  keen  interest  in  their  bright  eyes  and  the  reluctance 
with  which  they  go  that  they  have  not  been  bored.  And  I 
tell  them  that  I  will  begin  at  once  and  write  my  adventures, 
as  they  call  them,  all  out,  and  have  a  little  book  printed  for 
them  to  read. 

"  Oh,  wont  that  be  jolly,"  says  George,  "  to  have  a  book 
all  about  papa."  "And  I  guess  mamma  and  grandpa,  too,  and 
lots  of  other  folks  will  want  to  read  it,"  says  Sioux. 


1 6  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

They  go  to  bed  and  I  begin.  If  I  do  not  finish  before 
these  boys  are  too  old  or  too  wise  to  care  for  so  plain  a  tale  in 
such  crude  fashion  told,  then  perhaps  boys  of  theirs  may  come 
and  prize  the  book  grandfather  wrote,  and  perhaps  some  old 
soldier,  worn  with  toil  and  weary  of  the  present  days,  may  let 
it  lead  him  back  to  the  old  camp  ground  or  prison  pen,  and 
thus  beguile  a  pleasant  hour. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  REBEL  IN  ORDER  TO  FIGHT  REBELLION. "THE    GIRL  I  LEFT 

BEHIND  ME." 

As  it  is  easier  to  describe  the  actions  of  men  than  it  is  to 
set  forth  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  motives  that  moved  them 
to  action,  so  I  expect  to  find  much  less  difficulty  in  narrating 
all  that  I  did  or  saw,  worthy  of  mention  while  a  soldier,  than 
in  telling  why  I  became  one. 

I  had  not  passed  my  sixteenth  birthday  when  the  war 
began.  I  was  a  farmer's  boy.  Had  been  brought  up  on  a 
farm  near  the  village  of  Potosi,  in  Grant  county,  Wisconsin. 
A  few  winters  at  school  in  the  log  school  house  of  our  district 
and  two  or  three  terms  at  the  school  in  the  village,  had  been 
my  opportunities  for  education.  You,  boys,  have  already 
read  more  books  than  I  had  at  that  time.  Such  books  for  boys 
as  Abbott's  Series  of  Histories  had  not  then  been  written,  and 
probably  would  not  have  found  their  way  to  many  log  farm 
houses  if  they  had  been.  But  I  had  read  the  History  of  the 
American  Revolution,  had  spoken  at  school  the  famous  speech 
of  Patrick  Henry,  and  I  loved  the  soul-stirring  strains  of  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner.  My  grandfather  was  a  soldier  in  the 
war  of  1812.  His  grandfather,  who  was  known  as  "Revo- 
lutionary John,"  fought  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution.  Many 
of  the  leading  incidents  of  the  history  of  the  country,  espe- 
cially of  the  wars  and  of  the  early  settlements  in  Virginia  and 


1 8  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

Kentucky  had  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son  in  stories 
and  traditions,  and  to  these  I  had  always  been  an  eager 
listener. 

I  was  well  posted  too,  on  the  political  questions  that  had 
for  a  long  time  agitated  the  country,  for  I  had  been  a  constant 
reader  of  Horace  Greeley's  Weekly  New  York  Tribune.  I 
can  remember  well  the  drubbings  I  used  to  get  at  the  village 
school  when  the  boys  divided  for  snow-balling,  into  Fremont- 
ers  and  Buchananites.  The  Fremonters,  to  which  I  belonged, 
were  largely  in  the  minority.  I  can  remember  too,  the  woes 
of  "bleeding  Kansas,"  and  how  I  used  to  urge  my  father  to 
take  me  with  him  out  to  Kansas  so  that  we  might  help  to  put 
down  the  "  border  ruffians  "  from  Missouri. 

The  firing  on  Fort  Sumpter  was  quickly  followed  by 
Lincoln's  proclamation  calling  for  seventy-five  thousand  vol- 
unteers. These  were  to  serve  for  three  months.  A  company 
was  at  once  formed  at  Potosi.  I  wanted  to  go.  The  men 
who  had  so  .  long  been  threatening  to  dissolve  the  Union 
because  they  could  not  have  political  matters  their  own  way, 
had  at  last  fired  upon  the  national  flag,  upon  the  Stars  and 
Stripes. 

As  I  saw  in  imagination  the  bombardment  of  Fort  Sump- 
ter, and  the  hauling  down  of  the  dear  old  flag,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  could  see  too,  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
the  "starving  time"  of  the  Jamestown  settlement,  the  Indian 
massacres;  the  battles  of  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill  and 
Brandy  wine;  Washington  crossing  the  Delaware;  the  awful 
winter  at  Valley  Forge;  the  heroic  deeds  of  Marion,  and 
Sumpter,  and  Jasper,  and  Newton;  the  glorious  victories  of 
our  navy  in  the  War  of  1812;  every  scene  of  hardship  and 
of  heroism  that  had  helped  to  win  for  us  and  to  preserve  for 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  19 

us  our  proud  position  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  of  which 
that  dear  old  flag  was  the  emblem,  came  trouping  up  in  mem- 
ory. "  The  mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every 
battlefield  and  patriot  grave  "  had  indeed  been  "  touched  "  but 
not  "  by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  impelled  me 
with  an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  volunteer  as  a  soldier 
and  help  to  chastise  the  traitors  who  had  insulted  the  flag. 
Such,  at  least,  are  the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  I  would  have 
described  had  I  then  attempted  to  explain  why  I  wanted  to 
be  a  soldier. 

There  was  another  reason  which  I  would  not  have  given 
then,  and  I  cannot  even  now  without  a  blush;  I  was  desperately 
in  love.  If  there  was  any  doubt  whatever  about  my  desire  to 
do  battle  for  my  country  from  purely  patriotic  motives,  there 
certainly  was  none  about  my  readiness  to  go  to  the  wars,  or  to 
engage  in  any  other  affair  of  the  knight-errantry  order  that 
might  win  smiles  of  approval  from  the  girl  I  loved. 

But  I  could  not  go.  I  was  the  second  in  a  family  of 
eight  children,  all  girls,  except  myself  and  the  youngest.  My 
father  had  gone  to  Pike's  Peak,  in  the  spring  of  1860.  In  the 
fall  of  that  year  he  had  started  to  cross  the  mountains  and  we 
had  not  since  heard  from  him — I  could  not  leave  my  mother 
with  the  management  of  the  farm  and  the  support  of  the 
family  on  her  hands.  I  saw  that  company  formed  in  line, 
dressed  in  their  stylish  new  uniforms  of  gray,  heard  the  fare- 
well speeches;  saw  flags  and  swords  presented,  saw  them  re- 
ceive the  warmest  of  kisses  from  all  the  lovely  maidens  for 
good-bye,  and  I  turned  away  with  a  heavy  heart,  with  tears 
of  sore  regret,  and  went  back  to  my  dull  farm-work. 

That  was  my  last  summer's  work  on  a  farm,  and  I  have 


20  THE  SMOKED  YANK, 

always  been  proud  of  the  record  I  made.  Besides  putting  in 
and  tending  the  crops  on  all  the  ploughed  land,  I  had  twelve 
acres  of  land,  on  which  there  was  a  heavy  growth  of  saplings 
and  underbrush,  grubbed  and  broken.  We  raised  an  excel- 
lent crop. 

I  did  not  neglect  the  farm,  although  my  heart  was  not  in 
the  work.  No  boy  of  adventurous  disposition  who  has  an 
inherited  love  for  dog,  and  horse,  and  gun,  will  ever  be  con- 
tent on  a  farm  while  there  is  war  in  his  own  country.  I  had 
owned  a  dog  and  gun,  and  had  been  a  hunter  from  the  time  I 
was  eight  years  old,  and  I  could  ride  like  an  Arab.  My 
leisure  hours  during  that  spring  and  summer  were  devoted  to 
such  exercises  as  I  thought  would  best  fit  me  for  the  cavalry 
service.  I  took  lessons  in  sword  exercise  from  a  man  in  the 
village,  kept  a  young  horse  for  my  exclusive  use  and  practiced 
jumping  him  over  fences  and  ditches,  riding  down  steep  hills 
at  full  gallop,  and  shooting  from  his  back. 

The  harvesting  was  all  done  and  the  grain  ready  for 
stacking  when  father  got  home.  He  had  been  snowed  up  all 
winter  in  the  mountains  of  Colorado.  My  first  thought  was, 
now  I  can  go  to  the  war.  My  cousin,  James  F.  Ayars,  had 
enlisted  in  the  7th  Wis.  Infantry,  and  I  tried  hard  to  persuade 
my  father  to  let  me  go  in  the  same  company.  He  thought  I 
was  too  young — said  that  if  I  went  into  the  army  and  survived 
the  war,  my  opportunity  for  securing  an  education  would  be 
gone.  He  did  not  believe  that  a  boy  would  retain  a  desire 
for  education  through  years  of  soldier  life.  He  offered  to 
send  me  away  to  school,  and  as  the  academy  to  which  he 
proposed  sending  me  was  at  Lancaster,]the  county  seat,  where 
the  object  of  my  boyish  affections  was  then  living,  I  concluded 
to  follow  his  advice,  and  accept  his  offer. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  21 

Early  in  September  I  was  duly  installed  as  one  of  the 
pupils  at  the  Academy,  but  I  could  not  shake  off  the  desire  to 
take  part  in  the  war.  In  the  latter  part  of  November,  C.  C. 
Washburn,  afterward  General,  came  to  Lancaster  and  made 
arrangements  to  have  a  company  of  cavalry  recruited  in  that 
county.  I  went  at  once  to  the  recruiting  office.  Was  told 
that  I  would  not  be  taken  without  the  written  consent  of  my 
father.  How  wras  this  to  be  obtained?  I  sat  in  school  that 
afternoon  with  a  book  open  before  me  thinking  over  the  situa- 
tion. Classes  to  which  I  belonged  were  called,  but  I  was  so 
deeply  engaged  in  meditation  that  I  took  no  heed.  All  at  once 
the  thought  came  to  my  mind  that  thousands  of  the  young  men 
who  were  at  the  front  had  left  schools  and  offices  and  clerk- 
ships and  by  serving  their  country  were  losing  opportunities 
for  education  and  for  professional  and  business  advancement — 
that  the  country  would  have  but  few  defenders  if  only  those 
who  could  do  so  without  sacrifice  were  to  volunteer — these 
thoughts  flashed  into  my  mind,  as  sunshine  sometimes  flashes 
through  a  rift  in  the  clouds,  and  seemed  to  make  the  path  of 
duty  plain.  I  gathered  up  my  books  and  without  so  much  as 
by  your  leave,  to  the  professor  or  any  one  else,  I  walked  out 
of  the  school-room. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  an  obedient  son,  who  never 
before  had  dreamed  of  wilfully  disobeying  his  father's  com- 
mand, had  been  transformed  into  an  uncompromising  rebel. 

Out  of  doors  a  cold  sleeting  rain  was  falling  and  the  wind 
blowing,  but  what  would  a  soldier  amount  to  who  cared  for  a 
driving  wind  with  sleet  and  rain?  To  procure  a  horse  and 
gallop  him  over  the  twelve  miles  to  my  father's  house  was  but 
an  hour  of  sport. 

The  family  were  at  supper  when  I  entered  dripping  with 


22  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

water  and  splashed  with  mud.  "Why,  what  in  the  world?" 
said  mother.  "  What  brought  you  home  through  such  a 
storm?"  "Soldiers  don't  care  for  storms,  mother,"  I  replied 
and  as  I  spoke  my  father  looked  into  my  eyes.  He  saw 
that  I  had  crossed  the  rubicon. 

That  night  we  talked  it  over.  I  told  him  that  I  had  re- 
solved to  be  a  soldier,  and  that  if  he  did  not  give  his  consent, 
so  that  I  could  go  in  the  company  from  our  own  county,  it 
would  only  cause  me  to  find  some  other  place  where  I  could 
enlist  without  any  consent.  He  gave  his  consent  but  with 
great  reluctance. 

Boys,  I  was  wrong,  but  I  did  not  then  think  so — no  argu- 
ment or  persuasion  could  at  that  time  have  created  a  doubt  in 
my  mind.  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother  and  thy  days 
shall  be  long  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth 
thee,"  has  a  different  meaning  to  me  now.  I  can  see  now 
that  if  I  had  remained  at  school  in  obedience  to  my  parents' 
wishes,  although  they  might  have  erred  in  requiring  me  so  to 
do,  the  responsibility  would  have  been  theirs,  not  mine. 

"But  what  became  of  the  girl?"  says  one  of  my  boys 
after  listening  to  this  point.  So  that 's  the  way  the  wind  blows 
already  is  it?  You  would  rather  have  a  love  story  than  a  war 
story  would  you? 

Well,  boys,  there  is  n't  much  to  tell  in  the  love  story  line. 
I  should  n't  have  mentioned  the  little  there  is  were  it  not  to  let 
you  see  how  nearly  related  love  of  country,  which  we  call 
patriotism,  is  to  all  the  other  noble  passions.  No  boy  can 
truly  love  a  chaste  and  modest  maiden  without  having  all  the 
better  qualities  of  his  nature  quickened  and  developed.  He 
no  sooner  feels  the  tender  passion  than  he  wants  to  look  better 
and  do  better  and  be  better.  The  fires  of  ambition  are  usually 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  23 

kindled  by  love  of  woman.  One  of  the  most  refined  and  in- 
tellectual mothers  that  I  ever  knew  used  often  to  say  that  she 
never  had  any  anxiety  whatever  about  her  boys  when  they 
were  in  love.  She  said  there  was  no  danger  then  of  their 
forming  any  loaferish  or  ungentlemanly  habits. 

If  she  was  right,  and  I  believe  she  was,  I  had  little  oppor- 
tunity for  bad  habits  when  I  was  a  boy  for  I  was  almost 
always  in  love.  My  affection  for  Helen  began  when  we  were 
but  children ;  I  was  but  thirteen  and  she  a  half  year  older  in 
years,  but  many  years  older  in  manners  and  in  the  knowledge 
of  social  etiquette.  I  was  an  awkward  country  jake,  she  a 
village  belle,  admired  by  all  the  village  beaux.  It  was  not 
her  handsome  face  nor  her  graceful,  slender  form,  nor  her 
bright  and  laughing  eyes  that  took  my  fancy,  but  all  of  these 
combined  with  a  daring  and  venturous  disposition.  I  taught 
her  to  ride  on  horse-back,  to  fish,  and  to  shoot,  these  were  the 
sports  that  we  both  loved  best.  We  ran  races,  swam  our 
horses  across  rivers,  shot  wild  pigeons,  and  even  stole  apples 
and  water  melons  out  of  pure  devilment,  for  we  had  an  abun- 
dance of  them  at  home.  Yet  I  never  went  to  see  her  openly 
and  avowedly  as  a  lover.  I  was  too  bashful,  too  green,  per- 
haps, for  that. 

She  and  my  older  sister  were  chums,  and  I  tried  hard  to 
chum  with  her  younger  brother.  I  used  often  to  walk  two 
miles  to  town  after  a  hard  day's  work  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  meet  her,  if  possible,  by  chance.  Have  often  hid  be- 
hind a  bunch  of  lilac  bushes  and  thrown  gravel  stones  at  her 
chamber  window,  striving  thus  to  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  her 
face.  If  you  should  ever  visit  your  grandfather's  old  home- 
stead, go  down  into  the  pasture  and  there  beside  an  old  road 
you  will  see  an  oak  tree  with  twenty-one  scars  one  above  the 


24  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

other.     Each  of  them  represents  a  blow  of  my  ax  and  a  word 
of  a  vow  made  to  Helen. 

These  are  pleasant  memories.  Your  Aunt  Alice  could 
perhaps  tell  you  more.  After  I  had  enlisted  and  just  before 
my  company  started  for  the  war,  she  arranged  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  visit  that  I  made  to  the  dear  old  home  with 
"  another  not  a  sister."  Ask  your  aunt  to  show  you  two  pic- 
tures that  she  has  in  one  case.  One  of  your  father  taken 
when  he  was  sixteen,  the  other,  taken  on  the  same  day,  of 
"  the  girl  I  left  behind  me." 


CHAPTER  III. 

CAMP  WASHBURN 1  GET  MY  NAME  IN  PRINT PRIVATES  EAT 

SANDWICHES  IN  THE  RAIN,    WHILE  OFFICERS    HAVE  CHAM- 
PAGNE   UNDER    SHELTER BENTON     BARRACKS ON    THE 

MARCH 1  MAKE  A  RASH  PROMISE. 

At  the  time  I  enlisted,  the  company  was  quartered  at 
Patch  Grove,  in  Grant  county.  There  we  were  drilled  until 
about  January  ist,  1862,  when  we  joined  the  remainder  of  the 
regiment  at  Camp  Washburn,  in  Milwaukee. 

That  was  a  hard,  cold  winter,  often  referred  to  as  the 
winter  of  the  deep  snow.  The  barracks  were  large  board 
shanties,  filled  with  two-story  bunks  for  the  men  to  sleep  on; 
there  was  an  adjoining  room  to  eat  in.  These  shanties  were 
so  open  that  a  laconic  English  boy  was  not  far  wrong  when 
he  said:  "The  crocks  in  the  domed  old  barracks  are  so  big 
that  you  could  fling  a  robbit  through  them  anywhere.'* 

The  cold  quarters,  the  drills  in  the  snow,  and  the  coarse 
food,  were  the  cause  of  much  grumbling.  Few  of  the  privates 
went  through  these  months  at  Camp  Washburn  without  hav- 
ing their  patriotic  ardor  considerably  cooled.  Some  wrote 
complaining  letters  for  publication  in  the  Grant  County  Herald. 
The  contrast  between  these  hardships  and  the  comforts  and 
enjoyments  of  home  was  probably  as  great  in  my  case  as  in 
that  of  any  one  in  the  company,  but  I  did  not  suffer  my  ardor 
to  cool.  Had  I  done  so,  my  father  could  have  said :  "  I  told 
you  so." 


26  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I  made  a  good  many  enemies  by  writing  a  letter  to  the 
Herald,  in  which  I  claimed  that  we  were  faring  sumptuously 
for  soldiers,  and  that  those  who  grumbled  most  did  not  live  so 
well  when  at  home.  That  was  my  first  effort  at  getting  into 
print,  and  I  came  so  near  being  thrashed  for  it,  that  I  have 
never  since  felt  a  longing  to  whack  anybody  through  the 
columns  of  a  newspaper. 

One  day  we  were  marched  to  the  city  through  a  driving 
storm  for  review.  When  we  had  splashed  around  through 
slush  and  mud,  and  falling  rain,  and  snow,  until  we  had  been 
viewed  and  reviewed  by  some  fellows  who  stood  on  a  covered 
porch  dressed  in  broadcloth  and  brass  buttons,  silk  scarfs  and 
plumed  hats,  we  were  formed  in  column  of  fours  in  front  of 
the  Newhall  House,  and  there  we  stood  in  the  snow  and 
rain  while  the  fellows  who  wore  the  shoulder  straps  partook 
of  champagne  and  like  luxuries,  within.  A  sandwich  and  a  cup 
of  coffee  had  been  provided  for  each  of  us. 

Had  the  officers  fared  as  the  men  did,  all  would  have  been 
well.  Had  there  been  no  storm,  it  would  n't  have  been  so  bad. 
My  ideas  about  all  men  being  created  free  and  equal,  were 
badly  demoralized  on  that  occasion.  For  once,  I  had  nothing 
to  say  when  others  grumbled. 

Not  one  of  that  crowd  of  officers  became  distinguished. 
Hundreds  of  the  privates  who  stood  there  in  line,  are  now  in 
everything  that  goes  to  make  up  manhood,  head  and  shoulders 
above  a  large  majority  of  those  who  then  wore  the  shoulder 
straps.  The  officers  who  succeeded  best  in  commanding  vol- 
unteer American  soldiers,  were  those  who  roughed  it  with  the 
men.  Who  ever  heard  of  Sheridan,  or  Sherman,  or  Grant 
keeping  men  in  line  in  a  storm,  while  he  feasted  in  a  hotel? 

My  file  leader  in  the  company  was  Horace  C.  Carr.     He 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  27 

was  a  man  of  medium  height,  black  hair  and  eyes,  broad 
across  the  shoulders  and  thighs,  had  long  arms,  and  was 
knock-kneed.  Carr  could  not  learn  to  keep  step.  One  day 
when  we  were  drilling,  I  kicked  his  heel  to  remind  him  that 
he  was  out  of  step.  He  got  mad  and  threatened  to  box  my 
ears.  I  expressed  an  earnest  desire  to  have  him  commence  at 
once.  Had  n't  the  least  doubt  in  the  world  that  I  could  beat 
him  in  a  fight.  He  looked  me  over  in  his  peculiar,  sneering 
way,  and  then  said: 

"Sonny,  did  you  come  away  to  get  weaned  ?" 

I  afterward  found  out  that  there  were  few,  if  any,  men 
in  the  company  who  could  handle  Carr,  and,  notwithstanding 
this  stormy  beginning  of  our  acquaintance,  Carr  afterward 
became  as  warm  a  friend  to  me  as  any  man  ever  had. 

In  March,  we  were  transferred  to  Benton  Barracks,  near 
St.  Louis.  There  we  drilled  two  months  more,  waiting  for 
arms  and  horses.  In  June,  having  received  arms  and  horses, 
we  were  transported  on  boats  to  Jefferson  City,  and  from  there 
began  our  first  march,  which  brought  us  to  Springfield,  Mo. 
Resting  there  a  few  days,  we  started  on  what  up  to  that  time, 
was  the  longest  march  or  raid  of  the  war.  This  was  the 
march  of  General  Curtis  from  Springfield,  to  Helena,  Ar- 
kansas. 

At  that  time,  the  policy  of  the  Government  was  to  whip 
the  rebels  without  hurting  their  feelings.  Nothing  in  the  way 
of  forage  was  to  be  taken  without  paying  for  it.  We  must 
pass  through  the  country  and  leave  the  growing  crops  unin- 
jured, leave  the  slaves  there  to  do  the  work,  leave  cattle,  hogs, 
horses,  and  mules;  nothing  was  to  be  touched  or  injured  unless 
absolutely  required  for  the  subsistence  of  the  army,  and  even 
then,  vouchers  were  given.  Before  starting  out  on  this  march, 


28  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

orders  were  read  to  the  troops  in  accordance  with  this  gov- 
ernment policy.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  private  soldiers 
had  more  sense.  Whenever  they  heard  of  a  farm  that  be- 
longed to  a  rebel  in  arms,  they  paid  it  a  visit  if  they  eould  and 
took  whatever  they  wanted  in  the  line  of  forage  and  provision. 
Some  of  the  officers  tried  hard  at  first  to  enforce  the  orders 
against  this  foraging.  We  were  commanded  to  keep  in  ranks 
while  marching,  formed  in  line  and  roll  called  before  camping 
and  then  a  chain  guard  was  placed  around  the  camp  to  keep 
us  from  getting  out.  My  recollection  is  that  I  did  not  during 
that  march  let  a  day  go  by  without  making  a  raid  on  my  own 
hook  upon  the  resources  of  the  enemy.  I  used  to  slip  out  of 
the  ranks,  get  what  forage  I  wanted,  then  keep  the  regiment 
in  sight  until  I  saw  them  halting  for  camp,  when  I  would  slip 
back  as  they  were  forming  for  roll-call,  as  that  was  always  a 
time  of  confusion. 

About  the  third  night  out,  I  got  back  from  my  raid  too 
late.  The  regiment  was  in  camp  and  guards  stationed.  I 
tried  to  slip  in  through  the  brush,  but  a  guard  saw  and  cap- 
tured me.  Tried  to  divide  with  him  and  get  off,  but  he  was  n't 
that  kind.  He  took  me  to  Col.  Washburn's  tent.  I  had 
honey,  two  hams,  some  chickens,  and  some  bundles  of  oats  for 
my  horse.  These  things  were  all  unloaded  into  the  tent,  and 
then  the  colonel  read  the  riot  act.  I  told  him  I  did  n't  believe 
in  going  hungry  or  starving  my  horse,  while  the  rebels,  whose 
country  we  were  in,  had  plenty.  The  colonel  admitted  that 
he  was  n't  in  love  with  the  government  policy  himself,  but  he 
said  that  he  was  under  orders,  and  he  would  obey  whether  he 
liked  them  or  not,  and  he  put  it  to  me  whether  that  was  n't 
the  right  thing  for  every  soldier  to  do.  I  had  to  admit  that  it 
was.  Then  he  said  that  if  I  would  promise  to  ride  in  the 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  29 

ranks  and  obey  orders  thereafter,  he  would  excuse  me  this 
time.  I  promised  and  I  was  then  permitted  to  go  to  my 
company. 

That  night  when  I  began  to  think  it  over,  I  regretted 
having  made  such  a  promise.  Would  just  as  soon  plough 
corn  as  ride  in  the  ranks  in  hot  weather  over  dusty  roads. 
That  was  one  of  the  hardships  of  war  that  I  had  not  counted 
on.  The  next  morning  I  told  Captain  Woods  and  Lieutenant 
Riley  what  had  occurred,  and  that  I  did  n't  believe  I  wanted  to 
be  bound  by  any  such  agreement.  I  asked  them  whether  it 
would  do  to  go  to  the  colonel  and  take  it  back.  They  thought 
that  was  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  if  I  did  n't  mean  to  keep 
the  promise;  so  to  the  colonel  I  went.  I  told  him  that  after 
thinking  it  over,  I  had  concluded  to  take  back  the  promise  I 
had  made.  He  was  at  breakfast,  and  ham,  and  chicken,  and 
honey  were  on  his  bill  of  fare.  He  looked  at  me  a  moment, 
and  I  could  see  that  his  frown  had  to  struggle  with  a  smile, 
but  he  managed  to  look  angry  as  he  thundered  out:  "  Go  to 
your  company,  sir,  I  will  make  an  example  of  you.  Your 
impudence  is  worse  than  your  disobedience."  A  moment 
after,  our  pickets  were  fired  on  and  we  formed  in  line  of  battle 
where  we  remained  all  day  expecting  attack,  and  I  suppose 
the  colonel  forgot  to  fulfill  his  promise  to  make  an  example 
of  me,  for  I  never  heard  anything  more  about  it. 

During  this  march,  I  got  into  a  quarrel  with  a  big  six- 
footer,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  well  pommeled  when 
Horace  Carr  interfered.  He  said  to  the  big  fellow:  "I  aint 
very  large  myself,  but  I  am  full  grown  and  used  to  being 
licked;  if  you  are  dying  for  a  fight,  let  the  boy  alone  and 
amuse  yourself  with  me."  There  was  no  fight,  but  from  that 
time  on  Carr  and  myself  were  friends. 

(3) 


30  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

During  the  march,  all  of  the  soldiers  supposed  the  objec- 
tive point  to  be  Little  Rock,  and  we  expected  a  hard  battle 
there,  for  we  learned  from  the  negroes  as  we  approached  that 
place,  that  great  preparations  were  being  made  to  receive  us. 
We  reached  Clarendon,  east  of  Little  Rock,  without  any  fight- 
ing, except  now  and  then  a  skirmish  with  guerrillas.  There  we 
turned  to  the  east,  marched  rapidly  all  night,  and  went  into 
Helena  on  the  Mississippi.  I  was  one  of  the  advance  guard 
as  we  charged  into  the  town.  Had  we  been  a  few  minutes 
earlier,  we  could  have  captured  the  rebel  general,  Pillow.  He 
was  crossing  the  river  on  an  old  flat-boat,  and  was  some  dis- 
tance from  the  farther  shore  when  we  rode  up  to  the  bank  of 
the'river. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HELENA A  SLAVE-OWNER  IN  A  BAD  FIX "  FORNINST  THE 

GOVERNMENT"  — PLANTATION  RECORDS  —  MEMPHIS,  PRO- 
HIBITION IN  THE  ARMY — HELPING  A  FRIEND  TO  BEAT 
THE  QUARTERMASTER. 

We  remained  at  Helena  from  early  in  July  until  late  in 
January.  The  country  back  of  the  town  to  the  North  is  high 
and  perhaps  healthy.  South,  East,  and  West  are  the  low 
bottom  lands  full  of  swamps  and  bayous.  The  town  is  on  low 
ground  protected  by  a  levee  from  over-flow.  It  is,  or  was 
then,  a  sickly  hole.  Fever  and  ague  and  other  diseases 
which  make  short  work  of  a  northern  man  who  goes  there  in 
July,  carried  off  at  least  ten  per  cent,  of  our  regiment. 

Helena  is  in  the  cotton  belt.  There  were  thousands  of 
negroes  on  the  cotton  plantations.  The  government  was  at 
that  time  trying  to  save  the  Union  and  slavery  too.  The 
negroes  came  into  Helena  by  hundreds.  Their  masters  would 
follow  them  in  and  get  permits  to  take  them  back.  The 
privates,  many  of  us  were  not  in  accord  with  the  Government 
on  the  negro  question.  We  used  to  follow  the  masters  when 
they  started  away  with  their  slaves,  release  the  slaves  and  con- 
vince the  masters  that  it  would  be  best  to  keep  away  from 
camp. 

On  one  occasion,  Carr  and  I  saw  a  man  leave  town  with 
a  lot  of  his  negroes  who  had  run  away.  We  followed  him 


32  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

out  about  ten  miles  and  then  stopped  him.  We  sent  the 
negroes  back  to  town,  took  the  master's  horse,  and  told  him 
to  stay  out  of  Helena.  Carr  asked  me  to  ride  back  with  the 
negroes,  as  they  were  afraid  other  slave-owners  would  arrest 
them,  while  he  would  conceal  himself  and  see  if  the  enraged 
master  would  attempt  to  follow  us  into  camp. 

Before  I  got  back  to  town,  Carr  overtook  me  leading  another 
captured  horse.  He  absolutely  refused  to  answer  any  ques- 
tions, and,  fearing  that  the  man  had  started  to  follow  us  back, 
and  that  Carr  had  killed  him,  I  was  willing  that  silence  should 
be  maintained.  A  few  weeks  after,  I  saw  this  slave-owner  in 
town.  He  was  n't  trying  to  take  out  negroes  any  more.  I 
pointed  him  out  to  Carr,  who  then  told  me  what  had  happened 
before.  He  saw  the  man  coming  on  a  horse,  waylaid  him, 
took  him  into  the  woods  and  handcuffed  his  hands  around  a 
a  tall  tree  and  left  him  there.  Carr  had  found  the  handcuffs 
on  a  plantation  where  they  had  been  used  in  disciplining 
negroes,  and  he  carried  them  in  his  saddle-bags  as  a  curiosity ; 
said  he  left  the  man  near  the  traveled  road  so  that  there  would 
be  no  question  about  his  being  released. 

All  that  summer  we  carried  on  a  warfare  of  that  kind 
against  what  we  believed  to  be  the  mistaken  policy  of  the 
government.  It  had  a  bad  effect  on  the  soldiers.  They  got 
to  be  like  Irishmen  when  they  land  in  New  York,  "  forninst 
the  government."  The  government  tried  to  protect  rebels  in 
their  property.  The  soldier  said,  "  a  rebel's  property  belongs 
to  the  government,  but  if  the  government  wont  have  it,  I 
will,"  especially  a  soldier  who  was  kept  where  there  was  no 
fighting  to  do. 

After  a  while  the  boys  ceased  to  make  any  distinction 
between  captured  and  other  government  property.  I  remem- 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  33 

her  that  a  boat  load  of  Irish  potatoes  was  unloaded  on  the 
wharf  at  Helena;  they  were  scarce  down  there,  and  in  great 
demand.  An  infantry  soldier  was  on  guard  over  them.  We 
wanted  some  of  those  potatoes.  That  night  we  borrowed 
some  muskets  from  infantry  men,  obtained  the  countersign, 
and  when  the  guard  at  the  pile  of  potatoes  had  been  on  duty 
until  his  two  hours  were  nearly  up,  we  marched  up  with  a 
pretended  relief  guard  and  relieved  him.  He  went  to  camp 
and  we  carried  off  potatoes. 

Of  course,  that  was  wrong,  but  such  acts  were  frequently 
committed,  without  conscientious  scruples,  by  honest  men,  be- 
cause they  had  lost  respect  for  the  government,  on  account  of 
the  policy  that  was  being  pursued.  It  seemed  to  us  that  the 
government  gave  more  thought  and  care  to  the  protection  of 
the  property  and  rights  of  rebels  than  to  the  safety  and  com- 
fort of  men  who  had  enlisted  to  fight  for  the  Union. 

While  at  Helena  I  was  taken  with  chills  and  fever.  An 
overseer  on  one  of  General  Pillow's  plantations,  offered  to 
take  me  to  his  house  and  cure  me.  I  went  with  him.  There 
had  been  nearly  two  hundred  negroes  on  that  plantation;  not 
one  was  left.  The  government  didn't  go  quite  so  far  as  to 
return  runaway  negroes  to  a  rebel  general  and  keep  them  at 
work.  That  man  and  his  wife  had  two  sons.  They  were 
both  in  the  rebel  army.  One  had  been  wounded  and  was 
taken  prisoner.  They  nursed  and  doctored  me  with  as  much 
care  as  they  could  have  bestowed  on  one  of  their  own  boys. 
It  gave  them  a  feeling  of  security  to  have  a  Union  soldier  in 
their  house. 

On  that  plantation  I  used  to  read  the  records  kept  by 
the  overseer.  It  seems  that  every  overseer  of  a  large  plan- 
tation kept  a  daily  record.  That  record  showed  that  there 


34 


THE  SMOKED  TANK. 


were  negroes  whipped,  bucked,  and  gagged,  and  otherwise 
punished  every  day.  Every  negro  who  came  from  the  field 
with  less  than  his  stint  of  cotton,  received  so  many  lashes.  I 
saw  there  the  same  kind  of  instruments  of  torture  that  I  after- 
ward saw  in  Andersonville.  One  machine  was  rigged  for 
stretching  negroes  over  a  large  roller,  so  that  the  lash  could 
be  applied  to  the  bare  skin.  If  anyone  believes  that  the  cruel- 
ties practiced  on  slaves  were  exaggerated  in  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,  let  him  hunt  up  and  read  one  of  those  plantation  records. 

Except  a  few  unimportant  raids  and  a  little  scouting,  we 
might  as  well  have  been  infantry  men  during  all  these  months 
at  Helena.  About  February  ist,  we  were  transported  on 
boats  up  to  Memphis.  I  rode  from  the  steamboat  out  to  the 
camp  ground  in  a  storm  of  sleet  and  snow;  and  before  tents 
were  pitched  for  shelter,  was  wet  and  nearly  frozen.  Caught 
a  bad  cold  which  terminated  in  pneumonia;  was  taken  to  the 
hospital.  The  doctors  said  my  health  had  been  so  badly 
broken  by  fever  and  ague  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  survive  this  attack  of  pneumonia.  Their  conclusion  was 
telegraphed  to  my  parents. 

Carr  helped  to  carry  me  to  the  hospital  and  never  left 
me  until  I  was  out  of  danger.  One  night  when  I  had  been 
unconscious  for  twenty-four  hours,  it  seemed  that  I  was  awak- 
ened from  sleep  by  some  one  rubbing  my  feet.  I  could  see 
and  hear,  but  could  not  move  or  speak.  The  doctor,  the 
steward,  and  Carr  were  close  to  me,  and  the  doctor  said  to 
the  others  that  I  would  be  gone  before  morning.  When  the 
others  went  away,  I  managed  to  make  Carr  understand  that  I 
was  conscious  and  hungry.  He  fed  me;  I  told  him  I  was  go- 
ing to  fool  that  doctor,  and  then  went  to  sleep.  In  the  morn- 
ing, I  woke  up  out  of  danger;  was  able  to  walk  when  my 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  35 

mother  got  there.  She  took  me  to  a  private  boarding-house 
and  staid  with  me  until  I  was  entirely  well. 

Soldier  life  at  Memphis  was  very  nearly  a  repetition  of 
that  at  Helena.  Our  camp  was  surrounded  by  a  chain  of 
guards  and  we  were  not  permitted  to  go  away  from  camp 
without  a  pass. 

Our  adventures  were  chiefly  of  the  disorderly  kind.  How 
to  get  out  of  camp,  take  in  the  city,  and  then  get  back  without 
being  arrested,  was  the  question.  I  went  to  the  city  three 
times  as  often  as  I  would  have  gone  had  there  been  no  camp 
guard  to  prevent.  The  selling  of  liquor  to  soldiers  at  the 
saloons,  or  by  anyone,  was  forbidden.  Before  that  order  was 
issued,  I  seldom  thought  of  drinking  anything.  After  the 
order  was  issued,  I  never  went  into  the  city  without  finding  a 
place  where  the  order  could  be  evaded.  Such  rules  and 
orders  have  that  effect  on  most  young  men.  When  we  were 
at  Helena,  rations  of  whisky  were  issued  to  us,  and  half  of 
the  soldiers  would  n't  touch  it.  Most  all  of  them  who  refused 
whisky  at  Helena,  drank  every  time  they  could  get  anything 
to  drink  at  Memphis. 

The  regiment  went  out  on  one  raid  before  I  was  able  to 
ride.  Carr  brought  back  a  captured  horse.  He  bought  it 
from  another  man  who  captured  it.  The  men  who  captured 
horses  and  mules  always  sold  them  if  they  could.  The  regi- 
mental quartermaster  always  confiscated  all  such  property  if 
he  could.  Between  him  and  the  soldiers,  there  was  continual 
strife.  Carr  expected  to  get  out  of  the  ranks  with  his  pur- 
chase before  getting  back  to  camp,  but  he  was  so  closely 
watched,  that  he  could  not.  Early  the  next  morning,  the 
quartermaster  was  around  taking  a  list  of  captured  property, 
and  of  course,  he  put  down  Carr's  horse.  He  had  a  particu- 


36  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

lar  grudge  against  myself  and  Carr  because  we  had  so  often 
outwitted  him. 

I  was  at  that  time  permitted  to  ride  where  I  pleased,  be- 
cause I  had  not  yet  been  reported  fit  for  duty.  The  horses 
were  all  taken  every  morning  and  evening  through  the  city  to 
the  river  to  water.  Each  man  rode  one  horse  and  led  another. 
An  officer  went  in  charge  of  each  company,  and  he  had  to 
bring  back  as  many  men  and  horses  as  he  took  out.  The  officer 
of  the  guard  counted  them  out  and  in.  Carr  led  his  purchase 
out  at  watering  call.  I  desired  to  help  him  if  possible,  so  I 
rode  out  afterward  and  overtook  the  watering  party.  I 
told  Carr  to  get  in  the  rear  coming  back  from  the  river.  I 
took  the  saddle  off  from  my  horse  and  left  it  at  a  stable;  got 
on  bareback.  Watching  for  a  chance  when  the  column  re- 
turning from  the  river  turned  a  corner  in  the  city,  and  the 
officer  in  charge  could  not  see  the  rear  of  his  company,  I  rode 
my  horse  quickly  in  between  the  one  Carr  rode  and  the  one 
he  led,  slipped  from  my  horse  on  to  the  other,  and  Carr  took 
my  horse  back  to  camp.  That  made  the  count  all  correct.  I 
left  Carr's  horse  at  a  stable,  got  into  a  hack  and  was  driven 
to  the  camp,  and  was  in  Captain  Woods'  tent  when  the  men 
and  horses  returned. 

The  quartermaster  soon  came  in  swearing  mad,  and  re- 
quired Captain  Woods  to  produce  the  captured  horse.  The 
captain  was  not  friendly  to  Carr,  and  he  entered  with  great 
zeal  into  the  search  for  the  missing  horse.  The  officer  that 
had  been  to  the  river  declared  that  Carr  brought  back  the 
horse  he  took  to  water.  Some  of  the  boys  knew  better,  but 
they  would  n't  give  us  away.  That  let  Carr  out.  Then  the 
quartermaster  accused  me  on  general  principles.  The  captain 
declared  that  I  was  writing  in  his  tent  when  the  men  came 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  37 

back  with  the  horses,  and  he  knew  I  did  n't  have  anything  to 
do  with  it.  Then  he  said  to  the  quartermaster:  "  That  horse 
was  hitched  to  the  picket-rope  this  morning  when  you  listed 
him,  and  if  you  have  let  some  one  take  him  away  in  broad 
daylight,  do  n't  you  blame  me  for  it." 

I  always  made  out  the  pay-rolls  for  the  company,  and  had 
been  at  work  on  them  that  morning  in  the  captain's  tent.  I 
went  back  to  work;  the  captain  came  in.  He  looked  at  me 
awhile,  and  then  said:  "Melvin,  how  did  you  manage  to  get 
that  horse  out  of  camp  ?"  I  told  him  all  about  it;  never  at- 
tempted to  conceal  anything  from  either  Captain  Woods  or 
Lieutenant  Riley,  and  neither  of  them  would  catch  me  doing 
anything  wrong  if  he  could  possibly  avoid  it.  Carr  sold  his 
horse  so  as  to  clear  $40. 


CHAPTER  V. 

VICKSBURG ANOTHER  CASE  OF  BEATING  U.  S. A  RUNAWAY 

HORSE  CARRIES  ME  INTO  CLOSE  QUARTERS JACKSON  AND 

CANTON HAVE   TROUBLE  WITH  UNCLE  TOMMY  AND 

LEAVE  THE  REGIMENT. 

In  May  we  were  transported  in  boats  down  to  Vicksburg 
and  up  the  Yazoo  river  to  Hains'  Bluff.  There  we  went  into 
camp  to  help  watch  Johnson  who  was  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
raise  the  siege.  We  had  something  to  do  there,  raiding,  and 
scouting  parties  out  every  day.  Once  we  crossed  the  Yazoo, 
and  made  a  raid  into  the  Running  Water  country.  We  cap- 
tured a  large  herd  of  cattle  and  some  prisoners  and  horses.  I 
captured  a  fine  young  mare.  An  officer  of  the  7*h  Kansas 
cavalry  offered  to  give  me  $60  if  I  would  bring  the  mare  to 
his  camp  without  letting  her  get  branded.  When  the  quarter- 
master once  got  his  U.  S.  brand  on  a  horse's  shoulder,  no  one 
would  buy. 

When  we  got  to  the  river  on  our  return,  the  brigade 
quartermaster  was  there  to  take  charge  of  all  the  captured 
property.  He  stood  on  the  steam  ferry-boat  as  the  horses 
were  loaded  for  crossing,  and  permitted  no  horse  to  go  on 
board  without  the  U.  S.  brand.  1  took  in  the  situation  while 
another  regiment  was  being  ferried.  Then  I  chewed  the  end 
of  a  stick  into  a  brush,  got  some  tar  from  the  hub  of  an  old- 
fashioned  wagon,  and  made  U.  S.  with  tar  on  my  captured 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  39 

horse;  worked  the  tar  well  into  the  hair,  then  rubbed  it  off 
with  sand  until  I  had  a  fine  brand.  I  had  to  tell  my  captain 
what  I  was  up  to,  as  each  captain  was  required  to  stand  at  the 
gang-plank  to  assist  the  quartermaster  as  his  company  went 
on  board.  I  took  my  horse  on  first,  and  then  went  back  and 
brought  up  the  rear  with  my  captured  mare.  The  captain 
managed  to  move  away  as  I  led  the  mare  up  the  plank,  and 
.the  "  U.  S."  was  so  plain  that  no  questions  were  asked. 

When  our  regiment  was  alone  or  at  the  head  of  the 
column  during  a  raid,  my  company  was  in  advance  of  the  regi- 
ment. A  boy  named  Lynn  Cook,  and  myself,  nearly  always 
rode  as  videttes  or  scouts,  in  advance  of  the  advance  guard. 
I  do  n't  remember  how  it  came  about,  but  this  place  was  al- 
ways accorded  to  Cook  and  myself,  probably  because  we  had 
keen  eyes  and  good  horses,  and  never  failed  to  discover  the 
enemy. 

We  had  skirmishes  with  Johnson's  cavalry  almost  every 
day.  One  day  the  patrol  guard  went  out,  under  Lieutenant 
Showalter — twelve  or  fifteen  men,  Cook  and  myself  being  ad- 
vance guards.  We  saw  three  rebels  coming  toward  us.  We 
supposed  them  to  be  the  advance,  as  they  were,  of  a  larger 
party.  Without  having  been  seen,  we  rode  back  and  reported, 
and  asked  the  lieutenant  to  let  us  hide  in  a  fence  corner  and 
capture  the  Johnnies.  He  would  not,  but  formed  us  in  line  on 
the  side  of  the  road  where  the  rebels  couldn't  possibly  get 
nearer  than  one  hundred  yards  without  seeing  us. 

They  came  riding  carelessly  along,  one  of  them  sitting 
sideways  on  his  horse.  We  were  all  ready,  and  when  they 
caught  sight  of  us  the  lieutenant  said,  "fire."  Not  a  man  was 
touched,  but  as  they  wheeled  to  run,  the  one  sitting  sideways 
was  knocked  off  and  captured. 


4o  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I  was  riding  a  little  race  horse  that  had  been  captured  at 
Fort  Pillow.  He  had  both  speed  and  endurance,  but  he 
wouldn't  stand  fire.  On  this  occasion,  as  soon  as  the  volley 
was  fired,  he  bolted  with  me  and  dashed  after  the  two  rebels 
that  were  running  away.  They  had  a  hundred  yards  the 
start,  but  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  I  was  within  a  few 
rods  of  them.  I  had  been  trying  all  the  time  to  stop  my 
horse,  -and  only  managed  to  pull  him  up  when  about  to  run 
into  a  whole  company  of  rebels  that  came  dashing  up  the  road 
to  support  their  advance.  Had  the  two  Johnnies  who  sup- 
posed I  was  chasing  them,  not  been  in  the  way,  I  should  cer- 
tainly have  been  shot  by  the  others.  My  horse  once  turned, 
carried  me  swiftly  back,  nor  did  I  try  to  hold  him. 

Immediately  after  the  surrender  of  Vicksburg  we  crossed 
the  Big  Black  river,  and  started  in  pursuit  of  Johnson's  army. 
I  never  could  understand  why  Sherman  did  not  crush  Johnson 
at  Jackson.  I  was  detailed  as  an  orderly  for  General  Parkes, 
who  commanded  the  pth  corps.  The  pth  corps  was  on 
the  left.  There  was  some  fighting.  I  rode  back  and  forth 
along  our  lines  every  day  carrying  messages,  and  could 
see  that  the  rebels  were  withdrawing,  leaving  only  a  skirmish 
line  behind  their  breast-works.  In  company  with  a  man  from 
the  signal  corps,  I  went  on  top  of  the  insane  asylum  with  Gen. 
Parkes'  field  glass,  and  reported  to  him  what  was  going  on. 
The  rebels  saw  us  and  fired  at  us  with  cannon,  regardless  of 
consequences  to  the  insane.  Then  I  climbed  a  tall  tree  from 
which  I  could  see  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  They  were 
evacuating  the  city  all  day,  and  I  never  could  understand  why 
when  one  half  had  crossed  the  river,  the  other  was  not 
gobbled  up. 

The  day  after  Jackson  was  taken,  our  regiment  went  on 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  41 

a  raid  to  Canton.  Some  rebels  came  out  to  meet  us.  They 
formed  in  line  in  the  edge  of  some  woods,  and  we  formed  in 
a  field  just  out  of  reach  of  them,  and  there  we  waited  until 
they  moved  away.  Why  we  didn't  have  a  fight  there,  I 
never  could  see. 

We  camped  that  night  at  a  little  place  called  Vernon.  In 

an  abandoned  house  I  found  a  trunk  addressed  to  Captain 

of  a  rebel  regiment;  broke  it  open,  and  among  other  things 
that  were  evidently  intended  for  a  soldier  in  camp,  there  was  a 
pair  of  fine  woolen  blankets  and  a  little  bag  of  silver.  These 
I  took.  I  presented  the  blankets  to  our  colonel,  Stevens,  and 
kept  the  silver,  four  or  five  dollars. 

A  few  days  after  that,  Uncle  Tommy,  as  the  boys  called 
the  colonel,  got  on  his  ear  because  so  many  of  us  left  the  ranks 
to  forage.  Had  he  kept  us  where  there  was  fighting  to  do, 
he  would  have  had  no  trouble,  but  fighting  was  n't  in  his  line, 
and  we  all  knew  it.  I  had  been  scouting  on  my  own  hook 
one  day,  and,  on  coming  to  camp,  found  a  camp-guard  out. 
Not  expecting  anything  of  the  kind,  I  was  captured  and  taken 
before  Colonel  Stevens.  He  was  in  a  great  rage.  Had  my 
forage,  of  which  I  had  a  load,  taken  from  me,  and  ordered  me 
to  get  off  my  horse  and  be  searched.  I  told  him  I  had  not 
taken  anything  but  forage,  and  was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking 
anything  else.  Adjutant  Scott  asked  to  see  what  I  had  in  my 
pockets.  As  the  colonel,  who  was  a  rank  Englishman,  saw 
the  silver,  he  fairly  frothed  at  the  mouth. 

"Where  did  'e  get  that?" 

"  In  a  house  at  Vernon,"  I  replied. 

"  Been  a  burnin'  'ouses  'ave  'e,  been  a  robbin'  of  people 
and  burnin'  'ouses,  'ave  'e?  I'll  teach  'e  to  break  borders  and 


43  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

burn  'ouses,  so  I  will.  Hadjutant,  send  this  man  to  his  com- 
pany under  harrest." 

I  tried  to  explain  but  he  ordered  me  off.  Lieutenant 
Riley  saw  Adjutant  Scott  next  morning,  and  together  they 
pacified  the  colonel.  Nothing  further  would  have  been  said 
or  done  had  I  been  content  to  let  the  matter  rest.  The  colonel 
called  me  hard  names,  had  taken  money  from  me  that  he  had 
no  better  right  to  than  I  had,  and,  as  I  did  not  have  much  re- 
spect for  him  anyway,  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  I 
thought  I  had  been  mis-used. 

Examining  the  army  regulations,  I  found  that  valuables 
taken  from  the  enemy  should  be  turned  over  to  the  hospital 
department.  From  Adjutant  Scott  I  learned  that  the  colonel 
had  kept  my  silver  and  made  no  report  of  it.  After  talking 
the  matter  over  with  Captain  Woods,  who  was  then  acting  as 
major,  I  concluded  to  ask  the  colonel  for  the  silver.  So  one 
day  when  we  had  halted  for  a  noon-day  rest,  I  walked  up  to  the 
colonel,  who  was  lying  in  the  shade  surrounded  by  other  offi- 
cers, and  asked  him  to  return  the  silver  that  he  had  taken  from 
me.  He  reached  for  his  sabre,  jumped  up  and  made  for  me 
as  though  he  meant  to  run  me  through  on  the  spot.  Captain 
Woods  and  the  other  officers  stopped  him  and  reminded  him 
that  he  had  no  right  to  use  his  sabre  on  a  soldier  for  asking  a 
question. 

A  few  weeks  after  this,  we  were  in  camp  near  Vicksburg 
and  orders  came  from  Washington  to  grant  furloughs  for 
meritorious  conduct  to  two  soldiers  in  each  company.  My 
conduct  had  not  been  in  all  respects  meritorious,  but  I  had,  on 
several  occasions,  volunteered  for  hazardous  service,  and  had 
never  been  known  to  shirk  when  there  was  dangerous  work 
to  do.  I  was  one  of  the  two  recommended  by  the  officers  of 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  43 

my  company  for  furlough.  Had  never  had  or  asked  for  a 
furlough,  and  now  to  get  one  for  meritorious  conduct,  and 
visit  my  home  in  the  North  during  the  hot,  sickly  weather 

when  the  army  would  be  idle,  nothing  could  have  pleased  me 

< 

more. 

Imagine  my  feelings  when  the  recommendation  came 
back  disapproved  by  Colonel  Stevens.  I  went  with  Captain 
Woods  to  see  him.  We  had  a  stormy  interview.  The  colonel 
said  I  deserved  a  court-martial  rather  than  a  furlough.  The 
captain  then  demanded  a  court-martial. 

I  was  subsequently  tried  before  a  court-martial  on 
charges  preferred  by  Colonel  Stevens.  The  trial  was  in  the 
colonel's  tent.  I  did  not  hear  the  evidence  submitted  against 
me,  but  I  was  called  in  and  asked  to  explain  how  and  where  I 
obtained  the  silver,  and  why  I  asked  the  colonel  to  return  it 
to  me.  I  sat  on  a  cot  in  the  colonel's  tent,  and  turning  up  the 
blankets,  noticed  the  very  same  white  blankets  that  I  took 
from  the  trunk  in  which  I  found  the  silver.  When  I  had  told 
where  I  got  the  silver,  I  said : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  took  a  pair  of  white  wool  blankets  from 
the  same  trunk  and  presented  them  to  Colonel  Stevens.  He 
thanked  me  with  great  kindness  and  made  no  inquries  as  to 
where  I  got  them.  I  think  these  are  the  same  blankets." 

I  uncovered  a  pair  of  white  blankets  on  the  cot.  The 
officers  of  the  court  smiled;  the  colonel  got  red  in  the  face  and 
tried  to  explain,  but  about  all  that  he  could  say  was  that  he 
did  not  know  that  I  was  the  boy  that  gave  him  the  blankets. 
As  I  never  heard  anything  more  from  the  court-martial,  I 
suppose  that  the  charges  were  not  sustained. 

I  liked  my  companions  in  the  company  and  never  had  any 
trouble  whatever  with  my  company  officers,  but,  knowing  that 


44  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

the  colonel  was  watching  for  a  chance  to  get  me  into  trouble, 
and  fearing  that  he  might,  I  obtained  through  Captain  Woods 
an  order  from  the  division  commander,  placing  me  on  detached 
service,  and  assigning  me  for  duty  at  the  division  headquarters 
in  Vicksburg.  There  I  was  an  orderly  for  two  or  three 
months  and  was  then  made  chief  of  orderlies.  , 

The  duties  of  an  orderly  in  an  army  that  is  in  actual  ser- 
vice, are  about  the  same  as  those  of  a  page  in  congress.  The 
orderlies  usually  know  everything  and  see  everything  that  is 
going  on.  If  they  please  the  officers  under  whom  they  work, 
they  are  well  treated,  if  they  do  not  they  are  sent  to  their 
regiment. 

My  duties  at  the  division  headquarters,  especially  after  I 
was  promoted  to  chief  of  orderlies,  were  light  and  pleasant. 
I  would  in  all  probability  have  remained  on  detached  service 
until  the  term  for  which  I  enlisted  expired,  had  I  not  met  with 
the  misfortune  hereafter  related. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  GET  LEAVE  OF  ABSENCE  AND  HAVE  SOME  FUN  WITH  THE 

BOYS HELPING  PLANTERS  TO  MARKET  COTTON "AN 

ATHEIST'S  LAUGH  A  POOR  EXCHANGE  FOR  DEITY  OFFEND- 
ED" —  CAPTURED  BY  GUERILLAS. 

In  February,  1864,  my  regiment  was  in  camp  at  Redbone 
Church,  twelve  miles  south  of  Vicksburg,  Major  Harry  East- 
man, in  command.  The  weather  was  delightful,  the  regiment 
in  good  health  and  fine  spirits.  Dashing  Harry,  as  the  major 
was  sometimes  called,  and  nearly  all  of  his  officers  and  men, 
were  reported  to  be  coining  money  in  the  cotton  business. 
Every  man  that  I  saw  in  the  regiment  reported  "  jolly  good 
times  in  camp." 

There  was  not  much  to  do  at  division  headquarters. 
General  McArthur  and  most  of  the  men  in  the  division  were 
out  on  the  Meridian  campaign.  I  obtained  from  the  adjutant 
general,  a  leave  of  absence  for  ten  days,  and  went  out  to  camp 
to  have  some  fun  with  the  boys. 

The  cotton  camp  was  on  the  Black  River,  several  miles 
from  the  main  camp  at  Redbone.  From  this  camp  a  raiding 
party  was  sent  out  nearly  every  day,  avowedly  for  the  pur- 
pose of  hunting  Whittaker's  scouts,  a  band  of  guerillas  that 
infested  the  region,  but  really  for  the  purpose  of  protecting 
teams  that  followed  after  to  bring  in  cotton.  The  first  morn- 
ing after  I  arrived  at  the  cotton  camp,  a  raiding  party  one  hun- 


46  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

dred  strong,  started  out  under  Dashing  Harry  himself.  I  went 
along,  and  being  a  visitor  and  not  obliged  to  keep  in  the  ranks, 
I  soon  discovered  the  object  of  the  raid.  At  every  plantation 
the  major  would  have  a  private  interview  with  the  planter 
and  then  march  on.  As  soon  as  the  command  was  fairly  out 
of  sight,  that  planter  would  have  all  the  hands  on  the  place 
hitching  up  teams  and  loading  on  cotton.  We  started  at  an 
early  hour;  about  noon  we  reached  Port  Gibson,  and  went 
in  on  a  charge,  scaring  the  people  out  of  their  wits,  and 
causing  the  few  daring  rebels  that  were  there  to  see  the  girls 
they  had  left  behind  them,  to  leave  with  short  allowance. 
Here  I  enlisted  four  of  the  boys  whom  I  considered  of  good 
grit,  into  a  scheme  to  gobble  a  team  and  load  of  cotton.  Our 
plan  was  to  slip  out  when  the  command  was  about  ready  to 
start,  remain  in  town  until  the  rest  were  out  of  sight  then 
secure  a  team,  load  it  with  cotton  and  follow  the  command 
into  camp.  All  went  well  until  the  troops  began  to  disappear 
over  the  hill,  then  five  of  us  seemed  a  small  number  to  hold 
the  town,  and  before  the  rear  guard  had  disappeared  over  the 
hill,  three  of  my  boys  deserted,  leaving  two  of  us  in  Port 
Gibson.  Night  was  coming  on  by  the  time  we  were  fairly 
out  of  town  with  our  four  mule  team  and  negro  driver.  At 
one  of  the  plantations  where  I  had  seen  the  major  interview 
the  planter,  we  halted  and  ordered  him  to  load  that  team  with 
cotton  as  soon  as  possible.  He  asked  who  I  wanted  the 
cotton  for.  I  told  him  for  Major  Eastman.  He  had  that  team 
loaded  in  less  than  a  jiffy.  We  left  the  plantation  at  dark ;  I 
rode  ahead  of  the  team  and  my  companion  brought  up  the 
rear.  Our  road  lay  over  a  hilly  country,  part  of  the  way 
through  timber.  It  was  twenty-five  miles  to  camp;  the  dark- 
ness intense,  Reader,  try  such  a  ride  on  such  a  night  in  a 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  47 

guerilla  region,  and  if  you  don't  wish  for  the  end  of  your 
journey  before  you  find  it,  your  experience  will  not  be  what 
mine  was.  At  daybreak  we  unloaded  four  bales  among  other 
bales  of  cotton  on  the  bank  of  the  Black  River,  reported  the 
fact  to  an  officer,  and  in  a  few  days  afterwards,  Charley  Camp- 
bell and  I  received  $90  each  for  our  share  of  that  night's 
work.  I  afterward  saw  the  planter  in  Major  Eastman's  tent, 
but  how  they  settled  for  the  four  bales  of  cotton,  I  never  in- 
quired. Such  incidents  were  the  every-day  occurrences  of  the 
cotton  camp. 

A  few  days  after  this,  Lieutenant  D.  L.  Riley,  with  a 
detachment  of  men  was  sent  further  up  the  river  to  guard  a 
ford,  and  also  to  keep  the  guerillas  in  that  vicinity  from  molest- 
ing the  planters  as  they  hauled  their  cotton  to  market  at 
Vicksburg. 

After  establishing  his  camp  at  the  ford,  the  lieutenant  rode 
into  Redbone.  He  told  me  that  he  had  learned  from  a  negro 
that  there  was  a  large  quantity  of  C.  S.  A.  cotton  (cotton  pur- 
chased by  the  confederate  government  and  branded  C.  S.  A.) 
concealed  in  a  swamp  six  or  seven  miles  above  his  camp  at 
the  ford.  I  returned  with  Riley  and  found  Lieutenant  Sho- 
walter  and  the  men  very  much  excited.  During  the  night, 
a  large  band  of  guerillas  had  charged  up  to  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river  and  fired  on  them  —  but  as  the  boys  were  all 
sleeping  behind  bales  of  cotton,  none  was  hurt.  That  day 
we  scouted  in  all  directions  but  could  hear  nothing  of  the 
guerillas,  though  we  saw  a  number  of  men  that  looked  as 
though  they  might  do  good  service.  As  each  one  had  a  sur- 
geon's certificate  exempting  him  from  conscription,  and  also 
professed  loyalty  to  the  Union,  we  passed  them  by.  There 
was  one,  however,  a  fine  looking  man  of  thirty  or  thereabouts, 


48  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

that  particularly  excited  the  lieutenant's  suspicion.  He  not 
only  showed  a  surgeon's  certificate  but  also  a  pass  and  a  letter 
from  the  post  commander  at  Vicksburg.  I  think  his  name 
was  Warner. 

The  next  morning  in  company  with  Sergeant  E.  Wise- 
man, Lynn  B.  Cook,  H.  C.  Carr,  James  Shanley,  George 
Cornish,  Patrick  Woods,  and  James  Johnson,  I  crossed  the 
river  intending  to  make  a  circuit  through  the  country,  and 
come  to  the  river  at  the  swamp  above  where  the  C.  S.  A. 
cotton  was  reported  to  be.  It  was  our  intention  to  make  a 
raft  of  the  cotton  and  float  it  down  the  river  to  camp.  We 
started  before  daybreak;  I  was  riding  ahead  and  out  of  sight 
of  the  rest  of  the  party,  when  I  came  in  sight  of  the  plantation, 
owned  by  the  fine-looking,  suspicious  gentleman  before  men- 
tioned, just  in  time  to  see  him  dismount  at  his  gate  and  lead  his 
horse  toward  the  house.  I  put  spurs  to  the  mule  that  I  was 
riding,  and  when  I  reached  the  house  the  man  had  unsaddled 
the  horse,  a  fine  looking  animal,  and  was  holding  him  by  the 
bridle.  I  rode  up,  revolver  in  hand,  and  asked  him  where  he 
had  been  so  early  in  the  morning.  He  replied  that  a  lady  in 
the  house  had  been  taken  sick  in  the  night  and  he  had  been 
to  see  a  physician.  I  told  him  that  I  had  been  compelled  to 
ride  a  mule  because  my  horse  was  sick,  and  that  I  would  be 
obliged  to  take  his  horse;  but  that  if  he  would  come  to  camp 
that  night,  he  might  have  his  horse  back  if  the  lieutenant  was 
willing.  He  made  some  remonstrances  and  spoke  of  a  letter 
of  protection  from  some  Union  officer.  I  dismounted  with 
the  intention  of  putting  my  saddle  on  the  horse,  but  just  then 
a  lady  stepped  on  the  porch,  and  the  man  gave  her  the  bridle 
saying : 

"If  you  take  this  horse,  you  must  take  it  from  the  owner." 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  49 

She  said  :  "  You  Yankees  have  taken  everything  I  had 
in  the  world  except  this  horse,  and  if  you  get  this,  you  will 
have  to  take  it  from  me  by  force ! " 

I  supposed  the  lady  to  be  the  wife  of  the  man.  Both  had 
an  air  of  gentility  and  used  the  language  of  culture.  My  ideas 
of  chivalry  did  not  admit  of  my  taking  a  horse  from  a  lady  by 
force,  and  so  I  vented  my  spleen  on  the  man  in  threats  and 
insulting  language,  mounted  my  mule  and  rode  away.  We 
arrived  at  Hankinson's  ferry,  just  below  the  cotton,  about  nine 
o'clock.  Four  of  the  party  went  to  see  if  the  cotton  was  all 
right  and  four  of  us  remained  at  the  house  to  have  breakfast 
prepared  for  all.  The  inmates  of  the  house  were  the  ferry- 
man, his  wife,  and  an  old  negress.  The  house,  itself,  was 
one  of  the  double  log  houses  common  in  the  South,  the  two 
parts  of  the  house  being  separated,  the  space  between  called 
the  "  passage,"  having  floor  and  roof  but  no  side  walls.  The 
house  fronted  the  river;  the  road  leading  from  it,  ran  up  the 
river. 

The  old  auntie  prepared  the  breakfast  and  called  us  in. 
We  sat  down  to  the  table.  One  of  our  number  was  a  hand- 
some young  man,  then  about  23  years  of  age.  At  his  coun- 
try home,  he  had  been  the  pet  and  pride  of  the  family;  a 
leader  among  the  young  folks  of  his  neighborhood.  He  was 
active,  witty,  and  clever.  In  our  company,  he  had  been  from 
the  first  a  kind  of  clown  or  fun-maker.  Sometimes  he  would 
play  drunk,  get  arrested,  and  carried  struggling  and  kicking, 
before  some  officer,  where  to  the  chagrin  of  his  captors,  he 
would  stand  up  sober  as  a  judge.  His  favorite  role  was  that 
of  a  camp-meeting  preacher.  His  parents  were  Methodists, 
and  his  store  of  the  words  and  phrases  peculiar  to  camp-meet- 
ing and  revival  sermons,  was  indeed  wonderful.  Mounted  on 


So  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

a  box,  barrel,  or  stump,  he  would  go  through  an  entire  camp- 
meeting  service,  song,  sermon,  prayer  and  all,  and  so  perfect- 
ly could  he  act  his  part,  that  strangers  were  often  astonished 
to  learn  that  he  was  merely  in  jest. 

On  this  occasion,  we  were  no  sooner  seated  around  the 
table,  than  this  young  man  assuming  perfect  gravity  of  man- 
ner, bowed  his  head  and  pretended  to  invoke  the  Divine 
Blessing.  The  old  auntie  opened  wide  her  eyes  with  astonish- 
ment, and  at  the  conclusion,  "  Thank  God,"  she  said,  "  de 
Yankees  am  not  all  sinnas." 

Poor  boy!  How  little  he  thought  that  he  was  never 
again  to  take  a  seat  at  a  well-spread  table,  and  that  the  mem- 
ory of  that  blessing,  asked  in  mockery,  would  haunt  him  to 
his  grave.  It  did  haunt  him  to  his  dying  hour  and  he  died  of 
hunger.  Often,  afterward,  half-naked,  cold  and  sick,  and 
nearly  famished  for  food,  as  he  took  his  poor  ration  of  bread, 
the  memory  of  that  thoughtless  mimicry  would  come  over 
him  and  the  tears  of  bitter  remorse  would  chase  each  other 
down  his  bony  cheeks.  Boys,  if  you  are  ever  tempted  to 
scoff  at  sacred  things,  let  this  poor  boy's  fate  be  a  warning. 
His  thoughtless  act  was  not  the  cause  of  his  early  death,  but, 
done  as  it  was,  an  instant  before  an  unexpected  crisis,  it  made 
a  deep  and  lasting  impression,  and  none  can  say  what  his 
future  might  have  been  but  for  the  influence  of  that  guilty 
feeling  on  his  mind.  No  man  knows  what  an  hour,  even  a 
moment,  may  bring  forth.  Remember  this  from  Burns: 

The  great  Creator  to  revere, 

Must  sure  become  the  creature; 
But  still  the  preaching  cant  forbear, 

And  ev'n  the  rigid  feature; 
Yet  ne'er  with  wits  profane  to  range 

Be  complaisance  extended; 
An  atheist's  laugh's  a  poor  exchange 

For  Deity  offended. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  51 

When  ranting  round  in  pleasure's  ring 

Religion  may  be  blinded; 
Or  if  she  gie  a  random  sting, 

It  may  be  little  minded; 
But  when  in  life  we're  tempest  driv'n, 

A  conscience  but  a  canker, — 
A  correspondence  fixed  with  Heaven 

Is  sure  a  noble  anchor. 

We  had  just  commenced  to  eat,  when  some  dogs 
began  barking  around  the  house.  Sergeant  Wiseman  went 
out  and  came  in  directly,  saying  there  was  a  man  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  calling  for  the  ferry,  and  that  he  would 
stay  out  and  stand  guard  until  the  rest  of  us  had  finished  our 
breakfast.  I  was  just  rising  from  the  table,  when  there 
burst  upon  our  ears  the  unearthly  hip,  hip,  hip,  of  the  rebel 
yell.  I  leaped  into  the  passage  to  grab  a  gun,  and  whiz, 
whiz,  whiz,  the  bullets  flew  all  around  me.  I  thought  of  the 
corn-field,  and  looked  that  way;  a  line  of  rebels  was  within  a 
hundred  yards.  Turning  toward  the  gate,  the  muzzles  of 
a  half  dozen  cocked  guns  were  leveled  at  me.  Instantly  and 
almost  instinctively  my  hands  went  up  in  token  of  surrender, 
and  I  hastened  toward  the  men  in  front,  to  escape  being  shot 
by  those  behind. 

As  before  stated,  I  had  been  acting  as  chief  of  orderlies 
at  division  headquarters,  and  was,  therefore,  in  better  dress 
than  private  soldiers  usually  were.  My  only  weapon  was  an 
elegant  silver  mounted  self-cocking  revolver,  fastened  around 
me  by  a  morocco  belt,  such  as  officers  usually  wore.  I  had, 
being  so  ordered  in  no  gentle  words,  unbuckled  this  belt  and 
was  handing  it  with  revolver  attached,  up  to  the  man  nearest 
me  who  sat  on  his  horse,  when  I  saw  coming  toward  me,  his 
face  pale  with  rage  and  shot-gun  in  hand,  the  man,  Warner, 
riding  the  very  same  horse  that  his  sister  had  kept  me  from 
taking  a  few  hours  before.  It  was  well  that  I  saw  him  and 


5a  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

that  my  presence  of  mind  did  not  forsake  me.  I  knew  from 
the  expression  on  his  face  and  his  actions  as  well,  that  he  was 
ready  to  shoot  me,  but  could  not,  where  I  stood  without  dan- 
ger to  the  man  to  whom  I  was  handing  the  belt. 

As  the  man  took  the  belt  and  revolver,  I  saw  that  he  was 
pleased  with  it.  Such  weapons  were  highly  prized  by  the 
rebels,  and  I  quickly  handed  up  my  watch  and  pocketbook, 
and  said  as  I  did  so: 

"Am  I  your  prisoner?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon.     How  big  are  them  boots  ?"  he  said. 

"  You  can  have  the  boots,  but  do  n't  let  that  man  shoot 
me,"  I  quickly  responded. 

Looking  at  Warner,  Boatwright,  for  that  was  my  cap- 
tor's name,  said: 

"  What  in  hell  are  you  pointing  your  gun  at  this  Yank, 
for?  He  is  my  prisoner." 

"I  don't  care  a  damn,  whose  prisoner  he  is,  I  am  going 
to  shoot  him,"  said  Warner. 

It  seemed  that  these  men  were  not  personally  acquainted, 
for  Boatwright's  reply  was  something  like  this: 

"  I  reckon  you  don't  know  me,  by  G — d,  I'm  Boatwright, 
the  independent  scout,  that's  who  I  am;  and  when  any  man 
shoots  my  prisoner,  he  had  better  shoot  me  first." 

More  words  followed  back  and  forth,  until  finally  Boat- 
wright moved  his  horse  away  from  me,  and  with  cocked  re- 
volver in  hand,  said  to  Warner: 

"  You  are  going  to  kill  that  unarmed  boy,  are  you?  Now 
you  just  blaze  away!" 

Warner  knew  what  that  flashing  eye  and  defiant  manner 
meant,  and,  completely  cowed,  he  turned  his  horse  and  rode 
away.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  I  remember  almost  every  act 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  53 

and  word  of  those  two  men  during  those  few  brief  moments, 
or  any  wonder  that  I  remember  nothing  else  of  what  was 
going  on  around?  I  had  watched  and  listened  to  that  quarrel 
fully  realizing  that  my  life  was  wavering  in  the  balance. 
Warner,  because,  perhaps,  he  was  not  cool  enough  in  such  an 
emergency  to  invent  a  story  better  suited  to  his  purpose,  had 
related  our  morning  encounter  about  as  it  was.  I  admitted 
what  he  said,  and  claimed  that  he  had  not  sufficient  provoca- 
tion to  justify  his  shooting  me,  and  so  Boatwright  thought. 
Warner's  real  reason  for  wanting  to  put  me  out  of  the  way, 
was,  no  doubt,  because  he  knew  I  had  seen  his  surgeon's  cer- 
tificate, and  his  permit  to  go  and  come  through  the  Union 
lines,  and  now  here  he  was  in  arms  with  rebels,  and  therefore 
liable  to  be  shot  as  a  spy  should  he  be  caught  and  tried.  But 
these  things  came  up  and  were  talked  over  later  in  the 
day.  No  more  was  said  up  to  the  time  Warner  rode  away, 
than  I  before  stated,  and  not  until  he  had  gone,  did  I  feel  the 
terrible  strain.  Then  I  weakened,  my  knees  knocked  together 
as  though  an  ague  chill  was  on  me,  and  I  had  to  sit  down  to 
keep  from  falling. 

Meantime,  while  these  things  that  I  remember  so 
well  were  transpiring,  the  rest  of  the  boys  were  being  cap- 
tured, and  the  plunder,  consisting  of  horses,  guns,  revolvers, 
watches,  money,  and  whatever  they  had  worth  taking,  was 
being  divided  between  twenty-five  or  thirty  guerillas,  in  whose 
hands  we  now  were.  Excepting  Boatwright,  and  one  or  two 
others  who  claimed  to  be  independent  scouts,  they  belonged 
to  Whittaker's  scouts. 

But  all  this  time,  where  is  Sergeant  Wiseman,  who  went 
out  to  stand  guard?  Some  of  the  guerillas  said  they  fired  at 
a  man  crawling  up  the  bank  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 


54  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

Those  of  us  who  were  taken,  supposed  that  he  saw  the  gue- 
rillas approaching,  and  without  giving  us  any  alarm,  sought 
his  own  safety  in  flight.  I  have  never  heard  his  account  of 
the  affair  and  can,  therefore,  only  hope  that  we  were  wrong. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SAMPLES    OF    CHIVALRY JOKING    WITH    A  JOHNNY HELPING 

TO    FILL    UP   THE   SETS A   WEARISOME    MARCH    WITHOUT 

FOOD,    EXCEPT    FOR    REFLECTION TOO    ANGRY    TO     EAT. 

Just  after  Warner  rode  away,  and  while  the  remainder  of 
our  captors  were  arranging  to  follow,  we  were  all  startled  by 
the  report  of  a  gun  from  the  other  side  of  the  river  and  the 
whistling  of  a  bullet  directly  over  our  heads.  Looking  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sound  came,  we  saw  James  Trelore, 
one  of  our  company,  taking  his  carbine  from  his  shoulder,  as 
he  did  so,  he  wheeled  his  horse  and  galloped  away.  Several 
shots  were  fired  at  him  by  our  guardians,  none  of  which  took 
effect. 

It  seems  that  he  had  been  sent  up  to  see  how  we  were 
getting  along,  and  that  he  had  arrived  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  just  in  time  to  see  us  in  the  hands  of  our  new  friends. 
Trelore  was  a  good  shot,  and  I  have  always  supposed  that  he 
did  not  aim  closely  at  any  of  the  rebels  for  fear  of  hitting  us, 
but  merely  fired  over  their  heads  with  a  view  of  frightening 
them  away.  They  did  not  frighten,  and  he  came  near  paying 
dearly  for  his  audacity. 

Of  the  twenty-five  or  thirty  guerillas  that  surrounded  us 
in  the  first  place,  only  five  or  six  remained  after  our  capture 
was  made,  the  rest  galloped  away  on  the  trail  of  the  other 
four  of  our  party.  They  came  upon  them  in  the  woods  and  a 


56  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

sharp  skirmish  ensued,  resulting  in  the  wounding  of  Carr  in 
the  thigh  by  a  buckshot  and  the  killing  of  one  of  the  guerilla 
horses.  The  guerillas,  after  exchanging  a  few  shots  at  long 
range  and  finding  that  there  were  only  four,  charged  on  them 
with  the  usual  rebel  yell.  Carr,  too  brave  for  his  own  good, 
took  deliberate  aim  at  short  range  and  would  have  killed  his 
man  had  not  the  horse's  head,  suddenly  raised,  received  the 
bullet.  Before  he  could  re-charge  his  carbine,  a  dozen  men 
were  around  him.  Bringing  their  prisoners  together,  the 
guerillas  rode  away  with  us  rapidly  until  about  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  when  we  came  to  the  rendezvous,  where  we 
found  Captain  Whittaker  and  the  rest  of  his  band. 

Here  Warner  demanded  of  the  captain  that  I  be  delivered 
over  to  him  as  his  prisoner  to  be  dealt  with  as  he  might  see 
fit,  at  the  same  time  stating  his  reasons  for  the  demand. 
Boatwright  spoke  up  boldly  and  charged  that  Warner  had 
been  afraid  to  show  his  colors  in  the  morning  when  I  had  met 
him  single-handed,  and  that  he  now  wanted  to  take  me  off  and 
murder  me  after  I  had  been  made  a  prisoner  by  others.  He 
intimated  very  strongly,  too,  that  he  had  promised  me  his  pro- 
tection, and  that  it  would  n't  be  safe  for  Warner  or  any  one 
else  to  harm  a  hair  of  my  head. 

The  quarrel  between  the  two  men  again  waxed  warm, 
and  it  transpired  that  Warner's  real  reason  for  wanting  to  put 
me  out  of  the  way  was  not  so  much  what  I  had  said  and  done 
that  morning  as  the  fact  that  I  had  seen  his  pass  from  a  Union 
officer,  and  could,  should  I  escape,  or  in  any  other  way  get 
back  into  the  Union  army,  and  cause  his  capture,  furnish  evi- 
dence to  convict  him  as  a  spy.  Whittaker  listened  awhile  and 
then  decided  in  this  way: 

"  Young  man,"  he  said  to  me,  "  I  do  n't  think  you  have 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  57 

done  anything  very  much  out  of  the  way,  but  unless  you  will 
take  an  oath  that  you  will  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
seek  revenge  on  Warner,  or  try  to  do  him  harm,  I  shall  turn 
you  over  to  him  to  do  with  as  he  sees  fit." 

I  saw  no  other  way  out,  but  I  think  I  made  some  mental 
reservations  as  I  held  up  my  hand  and  took  that  oath.  If  my 
memory  serves  me  right,  all  of  my  fellow  prisoners  were  re- 
quired to  take  the  same  oath. 

Even  then,  Warner  was  not  satisfied.  He  asked  to  be 
one  of  the  number  detailed  to  guard  us.  To  this,  Boatwright 
vigorously  objected,  and  volunteered  to  be  one  of  our  guards, 
himself,  for  the  purpose,  as  he  plainly  stated,  of  seeing  that 
Warner  did  not  play  the  sneak  and  get  a  shot  at  an  unarmed 
foe. 

Boatwright  was  certainly  a  generous  and  brave  man.  He 
told  us  some  wonderful  stories  of  his  exploits  as  a  scout  and 
guerilla,  some  of  which  if  true,  were  not  to  his  credit,  but 
his  whole  conduct  while  with  us,  indicated,  that  though  rough 
in  appearance  and  coarse  in  language,  he  had  anything  but  a 
mean  spirit. 

If  I  remember  correctly,  there  were  seven  guards  in  all, 
under  command  of  Boatwright,  who  started  with  us  for  the 
headquarters  of  the  rebel  general  in  command  of  that  district. 
The  first  night  we  camped  where  there  were  two  log  cabins. 
We  were  put  into  one,  the  guards  took  the  other.  Two  at  a 
time  stood  guard  at  our  door. 

Carr  and  I  arranged  a  plan  for  our  escape.  We  pro- 
posed that  when  all  the  guards  but  the  two  were  asleep,  we 
would  suddenly  spring  on  these  two,  get  their  guns  and  cap- 
ture the  rest  before  they  could  be  aroused,  and  then  by  travel- 
ing in  the  night  only,  and  through  the  woods,  go  with  the 


58  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

prisoners  to  our  own  lines.  It  was  a  feasible  plan,  and  at  first, 
all  agreed  to  it.  But  as  the  time  for  action  approached,  two 
or  three  of  the  boys  became  faint-hearted  and  declared  it 
should  not  be  done.  So  they  shut  the  door  and  laid  down  in 
front  of  it,  threatening  that  they  would  cry  out  and  alarm  the 
guard,  should  any  of  us  attempt  to  open  the  door. 

Thus  securely  guarded  both  by  friends  and  foes,  I  spent 
my  first  night  as  a  prisoner.  The  boys  that  refused  to  join 
in  the  break  for  liberty  were  probably  right.  They  said  they 
were  afraid  it  could  not  be  done  without  killing  some  of  the 
guards,  and  that  whether  any  of  them  were  hurt  or  not,  we 
could  not  take  so  large  a  party  back  to  our  lines  without  dis- 
covery and  re-capture,  and  that  if  we  tried  and  failed,  we 
would  all  be  shot. 

The  second  night  we  came  to  the  camp  of  a  rebel  brig- 
ade— these  were  regular  rebel  soldiers — they  treated  us  well. 
Gave  us  a  tent  to  sleep  in,  plenty  to  eat,  and  two  of  us,  Cook 
and  myself,  and  two  of  the  Johnnies,  as  we  called  them,  en- 
gaged in  a  friendly  game  of  draw-poker  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  night.  Neither  Cook  nor  myself  had  any  money, 
but  some  of  the  Johnnies,  just  to  see  the  fun  of  the  game 
between  two  Yanks  and  two  Johnnies,  furnished  us  with  funds. 
We  came  out  ahead,  and  our  backers  generously  divided  with 
us  our  winnings. 

Here  we  were  placed  under  charge  of  new  guards,  the 
old  ones,  except  Boatwright,  going  back.  We  traveled  to 
Morrisville  that  day  and  there  waited  for  a  train.  By  this 
time,  the  wound  received  by  Carr  had  become  inflamed  and 
made  him  sick.  Boatwright  took  him  to  a  physician  who  ex- 
amined the  wound  and  said  the  bullet  must  be  extracted,  but 
before  he  would  do  it,  he  wanted  to  know  where  he  was  to 


THE  SMOKED   YANK.  59 

get  his  pay.  Carr  told  him  that  he  was  a  prisoner  and  had 
no  money.  Still  the  physician  refused  to  perform  the  op- 
eration without  pay.  I  mention  this  as  an  example  of  the 
boasted  southern  chivalry.  Finally,  Cook  and  myself  pro- 
duced the  money  won  in  the  poker  game,  and  gave  it  to  the 
man,  who  then  performed  the  operation  and  dressed  the  wound 
quite  skilfully. 

We  witnessed  another  illustration  of  southern  chivalry  at 
the  same  town.  We  were  guarded  in  a  negro  quarter  or 
hut.  Our  supper  was  brought  in  by  a  good-looking  mulatto 
girl.  The  owner  of  the  place,  the  girl's  master,  came  in  while 
we  were  eating,  and  seemed  desirous  of  arguing  with  us  the 
questions  that  divided  the  North  and  South. 

"  You  uns,"  said  he,  "  think  a  nigger  just  as  good  as  a 
white  man,  do  n't  you?" 

"  Yes,  in  some  respects,"  we  said. 

"  Now,  I  suppose  you  would  just  as  soon  marry  a  nigger 
wench  as  to  marry  a  white  woman,  wouldn't  you?" 

Thinking  the  old  gentleman  would  take  a  joke,  I  said 
to  him: 

*  ''I  would  n't  like  to  marry  any  nigger  wench  that  I  have 
seen  around  here,  for  fear  I  would  have  some  of  you  rebels 
for  a  daddy-in-law." 

As  I  spoke,  I  looked  from  him  to  the  mulatto  girl, 
standing  near.  Whoopee!  How  the  old  man  did  rave!  He 
stormed  and  swore  and  finally  started  for  the  house  saying, 
he  wouldn't  stand  such  an  insult  from  no  damned  Yankee. 
He  meant  business,  too,  for  he  soon  came  back  with  a  shot 
gun,  which  he  would  doubtless  have  fired  into  us,  had  not 
Boatwright  stood  in  the  door,  and,  partly  by  the  influence  of 
his  drawn  revolver  and  partly  by  persuasion,  appeased  the  old 


60  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

man's  wrath.  I  was  always  careful  after  that  about  joking 
with  Johnnies. 

From  this  place,  we  were  taken  on  the  cars  to  Brook- 
haven,  Boatwright  still  in  command  of  the  party.  While  on 
the  cars,  a  tall,  awkward,  loud-mouthed,  and  vile-tongued  man 
in  dirty  uniform,  commenced  to  talk  and  banter  with  some  of 
our  boys.  Not  getting  the  best  of  a  wordy  engagement,  he 
soon  had  his  six-shooter  out  and  valorously  flourishing  it  in 
the  faces  of  unarmed  prisoners,  swore  he  could  whip  any  five 
Yanks  on  earth,  and  dared  any  man  there  to  deny  it.  He 
had  a  bottle  of  liquor  with  him  which  he  began  to  drink,  and 
the  more  he  drank  the  braver  he  became,  until  he  began  to 
talk  about  killing  one  Yank,  just  to  celebrate  the  day.  He 
carried  this  so  far  as  to  order  us  to  draw  lots  for  the  honor  of 
being  his  target.  His  order  not  being  obeyed,  he  cocked  his 
weapon  and  flourished  it  so  recklessly  that  Boatwright,  who 
had  until  then  scarcely  noticed  him,  leveled  a  cocked  revolver 
at  him  and  ordered  him  to  lay  down  his  gun.  For  a  moment, 
he  looked  at  the  cold,  gray  eyes  behind  the  cocked  revolver, 
and  then  began  with:  "How  are  ye,  pard?"  to  try  and 
make  friends  with  Boatwright. 

"  I  am  no  pard  of  a  man  that  insults  prisoners,"  said  Boat- 
wright, and  he  took  the  pistol  from  the  cowardly  ruffian,  un- 
capped it,  threw  his  bpttle  of  liquor  out  of  the  window,  and 
ordered  him  to  take  a  seat  and  hold  his  tongue,  which  the 
tall  son  of  chivalry,  completely  cowed,  seemed  glad  to  do. 

At  Brookhaven,  very  much  to  our  regret,  Boatwright  left 
us.  He  seemed  to  have  the  right  to  go  where  he  pleased  as 
an  independent  scout,  as  he  called  himself.  I  know  of  no 
reason  for  his  staying  with  us  as  long  as  he  did,  except  to  pre- 
vent Warner  from  following  us  and  seeking  an  opportunity  to 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  61 

wreak  his  vengeance  on  myself.  In  fact,  he  often  spoke  of 
his  fears  on  that  point,  and  after  the  first  night  until  he 
left  us,  always  insisted  upon  my  sleeping  with  him.  One 
night,  while  we  were  at  Morrisville,  he  took  Lynn  Cook 
and  myself  to  a  tavern,  and  we  all  occupied  the  same 
room.  Before  going  to  bed,  he  asked  us  to  pledge  our 
word  of  honor  to  make  no  attempt  to  escape,  and  then  un- 
dressed and  went  to  bed  with  us.  He  told  us  that  he  would 
be  very  glad  to  have  us  get  away  and  safely  back  to  our 
friends,  but  he  did  n't  want  us  to  escape  while  he  was  in  charge 
of  us,  for  that  would  cause  him  trouble. 

Just  before  he  left  us  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him,  and  he 
advised  me  to  get  away.  He  gave  me  all  the  points  he  could 
about  the  best  course  to  pursue  in  case  I  should  escape.  We 
saw  him  go  with  great  reluctance.  Although  he  told  of  many 
exploits  in  killing  Union  men  and  negroes,  many  of  which,  if 
true,  were  extremely  cruel  and  not  to  his  credit,  his  whole 
treatment  of  our  party  was  a  splendid  example  of  real  chivalry. 
I  have  never  seen  or  heard  of  him  since,  but  whether  he  got 
killed  in  some  dare-devil  venture,  or,  as  such  men  were  likely 
to  do,  became  a  member  of  some  gang  of  desperadoes  after 
the  war,  such  as  the  James  Brothers'  gang,  I  warrant  that  for 
personal  coolness  and  nerve,  he  seldom,  if  ever,  met  his 
superior;  and  whatever  his  lot,  if  he  still  lives,  I  would  be  glad 
and  proud  to  shake  the  hand  of  Boatwright  and  thank  him 
again  for  his  kind  and  manly  treatment. 

At  Brookhaven,  Cook,  Carr,  and  myself,  laid  many 
plans  for  escape.  Our  schemes  for  getting  away  by  stealth  were 
all  in  one  way  and  another  frustrated.  Some  of  them,  we 
thought,  by  the  treachery  of  our  companions.  We  had  joined 
a  larger  party  of  prisoners,  and  there  were  now  twenty-five 


63  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

or  thirty  of  us  in  all.  If  we  could  have  united  the  whole  party 
in  an  attempt,  we  could  easily  have  set  ourselves  at  liberty  by 
force.  But  the  majority  were  afraid  to  try  it,  claiming  that 
the  whole  village  and  country  around  would  be  in  arms  and 
that  we  would  be  tracked  by  blood-hounds  and  either  killed  or 
re-captured. 

We  were  well  treated.  In  fact  a  few  of  us,  especially 
Lynn  Cook  and  Wm.  Cook,  who  could  play  on  the  fiddle,  and 
myself  and  one  or  two  other  men,  had  some  regular  jollifica- 
tions. Some  of  our  guards  who  were  strangers  in  the  town, 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  folks  and  got  up  danc- 
ing parties.  The  ladies  being  largely  in  the  majority,  because 
the  young  men  were  all  away,  in  the  army,  some  of  us  Yanks 
were  invited  to  the  parties  as  the  rebel  girls  said,  just  to  fill 
up  the  sets.  We  fancied  that  they  found  our  company  quite 
as  agreeable  as  that  of  any  of  the  Johnnies. 

At  one  of  these  dancing  parties  to  which  Lynn  Cook  and 
myself  were  invited  and  taken  under  guard,  we  made  an  un- 
successful attempt  to  escape.  It  was  a  warm  evening  and  the 
windows  in  the  room  were  up.  We  arranged  a  cotillion  in 
which  our  two  guards  and  ourselves  were  the  gentlemen. 
We  confided  our  scheme  to  two  of  the  ladies  with  whom  we 
had  become  familiar,  and  to  whom  we  were  pretending  to 
make  love,  and  they  agreed  to  assist.  After  the  cotillion 
ended,  we  called  for  a  waltz,  and  while  our  two  guards  were 
waltzing  and  only  one  guard  with  a  gun  left  at  the  front  door, 
our  partners  were  to  continue  the  waltz  together  and  let  Lynn 
and  myself  slip  out  of  the  window.  The  room  was  but  dimly 
lighted  with  one  or  two  tallow  candles.  Cook  went  first,  had 
cleared  the  window  and  I  was  half  out,  when  both  our  part- 
ners screamed :  "  They  are  getting  away.  The  Yanks  are 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  63 

getting  away."  The  guards  seized  their  guns,  ran  out  at  the 
front  door,  and,  as  it  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  we  thought 
the  chances  were  against  us  and  made  as  great  speed  in  get- 
ting back  into  the  room  as  we  had  tried  to  make  in  getting  out. 

Whether  our  lady  friends  meant  to  play  us  a  trick  or 
whether  they  saw  we  were  noticed  by  others  and  screamed  to 
keep  themselves  from  being  implicated,  we  never  found  out, 
for  we  were  taken  at  once  to  our  prison  house  without  being 
permitted  as  formerly  to  go  home  with  our  girls  with  guards 
behind  us.  We  were  not  invited  to  any  more  dances. 

A  few  days  after,  we  were  taken  on  the  cars  back  to 
Morrisville,  and  from  there  on  foot  through  Jackson,  (which 
place  we  helped  to  capture  but  a  few  months  before,)  to 
Canton,  another  town  that  we  had  before  been  in  sight  of  but 
had  not  entered,  there  being,  in  the  opinion  of  our  commander, 
too  many  rebels  there  at  that  time.  As  we  were  all  cavalry 
men  and  not  used  to  walking,  this  journey  in  warm  weather 
over  a  sandy  road,  was  hard  on  our  feet.  I  nearly  gave  out 
the  first  day,  and  I  well  remember  how  glad  I  was  when  the 
rebel  guards  said  that  we  would  camp  at  a  plantation  we 
were  approaching. 

On  nearing  this  place,  I  recognized  the  house  as  one 
that  I  had  been  in,  on  my  return  trip  from  Canton,  before 
mentioned.  On  that  occasion,  I  rode  up  to  this  house  and 
found  it  full  of  Union  soliers,  who  were  literally  stripping  it. 
They  were  even  taking  jewelry  from  the  hands  of  the  women. 
It  was  customary  when  on  such  excursions,  for  the  officer  in 
command  to  place  guards  at  such  houses  to  protect  them 
from  pillage  and  the  women  from  insult.  Seeing  no  guard 
at  this  house  and  cowardly  work  going  on,  I  drew  my  sword, 
declared  that  I  was  a  detailed  guard,  drove  the  plunderers 


64  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

away,  and  staid  there  until  the  rear  guard  came  along.  The 
ladies  were  at  the  time,  loud  in  their  praise  and  profuse  in 
their  thanks. 

Now,  as  I  neared  the  same  house,  tired,  limping  on 
blistered  feet,  and  hungry,  I  thought  to  myself  and  probably 
said  to  my  companions,  "we  will  be  well-treated  here,  because 
these  people  owe  me  a  good  turn." 

The  place  belonged  to  Doctor  Lee.  He  came  out  as  we 
reached  the  house  and  the  sergeant  in  charge  told  him  that  he 
desired  to  camp  for  the  night,  and  asked  whether  he  could 
have  shelter  and  food  for  his  men  and  prisoners.  The  doctor 
was  all  excitement  in  a  moment. 

"  Food  for  those  damned  Yankee  thieves?"  said  he.  "I'd 
feed  a  hungry  dog,  but  not  a  damned  crumb  will  I  give  to  a 
thieving  Yankee.  If  I  could  see  them  burning  in  hell,  not  a 
damned  drop  would  I  give  them  to  drink.  I'll  give  them 
shelter,  damn  them,  yes,  take  them  to  the  nigger  quarters. 
They  say  a  nigger  is  as  good  as  a  white  man.  I  say  a  nigger 
is  a  damn  sight  better  that  a  white  Yankee,  and  the  nigger 
quarter  is  too  good  for  them." 

This,  and  much  more,  he  rattled  off.  Who  could  blame 
him?  The  negro  quarters  were,  as  he  said,  empty,  be- 
cause the  Yankees  had  stolen  the  negroes  away.  And 
what  must  be  the  feelings  of  any  husband  and  father  to  re- 
turn to  his  home  and  find  that  armed  men  had  been  there  and 
stripped  the  premises  of  every  living  and  eatable  thing,  in- 
sulted his  wife  and  daughters,  wantonly  destroyed  what  they 
could  not  use,  and  even  robbed  women  of  their  finger  rings. 
Such  had  been  this  man's  experience.  Who  could  blame  him 
for  his  wrath? 

Still,  I  did  not  then  think  of  it  in  that  light.    I  induced 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  65 

one  of  the  guards  to  go  and  tell  him  that  I  was  the  man  that 
had  driven  the  other  Yankees  out  of  his  house,  and  stood 
guard  over  the  ladies  to  protect  them  from  further  wrong.  I 
felt  confident  that  when  he  heard  this,  he  would  invite  me  at 
least,  into  his  house  and  treat  me  with  hospitality.  But  not  so. 
He  sent  back  an  insulting  message,  and  the  sergeant  said  that 
he  refused  to  allow  any  of  the  prisoners  to  have  a  mouthful  of 
food  while  on  his  place.  It  was  now  my  turn  to  get  angry, 
at  least,  angry  I  got,  and  painfully  angry,  too.  In  all  my  life 
I  do  n't  think  I  have  ever  at  any  other  time  been  so  complete- 
ly soaked  and  choked  with  passion  as  I  was  at  that  place. 
The  more  I  thought  of  the  miserable  return  I  was  receiving 
for  the  generous  action  I  had  performed,  the  more  my  blood 
seemed  to  boil.  My  feet  were  painfully  blistered.  The  ser- 
geant had  an  old  negro  bring  me  some  water  in  a  tub  in  which 
to  bathe  them.  To  this  old  negro,  I  told  how  I  had  been 
there  before,  and  what  I  had  done,  and  he  went  away  saying 
he  would  try  and  get  me  something  to  eat.  After  an  hour  or 
so,  he  came  back  with  a  large  pan  of  corn  bread  and  some 
meat.  By  this  time  my  indignation  had  mastered  my  hunger, 
and  I  gave  the  food  to  my  companions,  telling  them  that  if 
they  wanted  to  eat  on  that  man's  place,  they  could,  but  as  for 
me,  I  wanted  no  food  that  he  could  call  his.  I  lay  awake 
nearly,  if  not  quite,  all  night  studying  how  to  best  take  re- 
venge on  this  Doctor  Lee,  as  soon  as  I  could  get  free.  It 
turned  out  that  my  blood  had  plenty  of  time  to  cool  before  I 
got  free. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"TO    THE    VICTORS    BELONG    THE     SPOILS" 1    LOSE     MY     SUS- 
PENDERS — A  JOLLY  REBEL  RASCAL A  CAPTAIN   OF   THE 

HORSE   MARINES. 

On  our  arrival  at  Canton,  we  were  drawn  up  in  line 
before  the  tent  of  Colonel  Lee.  We  were  told  that  he  was 
related  to  General  R.  E.  Lee.  Here  we  were  searched,  and 
our  names  taken  on  the  roll,  and  we  were  then  sent  to  the 
prison  room,  which  was  in  the  second  story  of  a  large  brick 
building. 

Here  we  found  about  150  other  prisoners.  The  room,  as 
I  remember  it,  was  about  25x80  feet.  There  was  in  it  a 
common  box  heating  stove  with  one  lid  on  top.  On  this  stove 
the  cooking  for  the  whole  party  was  done.  The  rations  were 
corn  meal  and  bacon. 

There  being  now  nearly,  if  not  quite,  200  men  in  the  room 
you  can  imagine  that  that  stove  had  something  to  do.  We 
were  divided  into  messes  and  each  mess  took  its  turn  at  the 
stove.  We  got  along  very  well  with  the  cooking.  As  for 
sleeping,  those  that  had  blankets,  made  a  bed  of  them  on  the 
floor.  As  there  were  no  blankets  in  our  party,  we  made  our 
bed  on  the  floor  without  blankets. 

When  we  entered  this  room,  the  prisoners  already  there 
told  us  to  conceal  carefully  any  money  or  anything  else  we  had 
that  we  did  n't  want  stolen,  and  to  cut  holes  in  our  clothes. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  67 

We  had  only  been  there  a  few  hours  when  we  found  out  why 
we  were  so  advised. 

The  guards  on  duty  in  and  around  the  building  were  re- 
lieved every  day  at  noon.  The  sergeant  and  squad  of  men 
that  came  to  relieve  the  guards  on  duty,  required  all  of  the 
prisoners  to  stand  up  in  rows  to  be  counted.  The  sergeant 
counted  and  the  soldiers  searched  each  man  in  turn .  Not  only 
our  party  that  had  just  arrived  but  every  man  in  the  room, 
and,  strange  to  say,  although  this  searching  process  had  been 
gone  through  with  by  every  new  guard  that  had  come  on  duty 
since  the  first  prisoners  were  kept  there,  hardly  a  day  passed 
but  some  rebel  succeeded  in  finding  something  that  had  been 
successfully  concealed  through  all  previous  searches.  I  re- 
member of  a  breastpin  being  found  concealed  in  the  hem  of  a 
man's  woolen  shirt  after  he  had  been  searched  daily  for  weeks. 
And  every  day  some  such  new  find  was  made,  and,  of  course, 
kept  by  the  finder  as  spoils  of  war. 

The  old  democratic  maxim,  "  To  the  victor  belongs  the 
spoils,"  was  never  more  thoroughly  practiced  than  by  those 
same  democrats  who  had  charge  of  that  rebel  prison. 

The  search  of  the  new  comers  was  always  more  thorough 
than  of  the  rest.  Our  party,  being  warned,  did  not  furnish 
much  in  the  way  of  spoils,  though  every  man  who  had  failed 
to  slit  his  clothes  lost  them.  Sometimes  the  reb.  would  ex- 
change what  he  had  on  for  what  the  Yank  had  and  sometimes 
he  would  take  it  without  exchange. 

The  only  thing  that  I  had  left  which  seemed  to  excite  the 
cupidity  of  the  cowardly  set  was  a  pair  of  suspenders.  These, 
one  of  the  Johnnies  ordered  me  to  take  off.  I  refused.  We 
had  some  words  and  he  stepped  back  and  cocked  his  gun.  A 
dozen  men  spoke  up  urging  me  to  give  up  the  suspenders, 


68  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

saying  they  were  not  worth  the  risk  of  being  shot.  I  gave 
them  up,  though  my  own  opinion  was  that  the  man  would  not 
have  shot  had  I  braved  it  out. 

Many  ingenious  plans  were  contrived  to  conceal  valuables. 
Some  took  apart  the  brass  buttons  on  their  coats  and  neatly 
put  them  together  again  with  greenbacks  inside.  Others 
took  the  heels  off  from  boots  or  shoes  and  hollowed  them  out 
so  as  to  hide  in  them  money,  jewelry,  etc.,  but  the  button  and 
heel  racket,  as  the  boys  would  say  these  days,  the  rebels 
caught  on  to,  and  one  day  every  brass  button  was  taken  from 
the  room  and  every  heel  examined. 

Thomas  Davidson  of  our  party  had  $90  in  greenbacks 
and  kept  it  through  all  searches.  He  kept  it  between  some 
dirty  pieces  of  brown  paper  and  whenever  the  Johnnies  began 
to  search,  he  laid  his  dirty  brown  paper  on  the  floor  among 
other  litter  and  let  the  robbers  tread  on  it. 

We  had  not  been  in  this  room  many  days  when  a  rebel 
put  in  an  appearance  who  was  to  us  the  type  of  a  new  species. 
He  was  a  young  fellow,  not  over  twenty,  tall,  slim,  black 
hair,  black  eyes,  smooth  face,  and  very  handsome.  "  Hand- 
some is  that  handsome  does,"  had  no  application  to  him.  He 
was  a  handsome  rascal,  but  there  was  a  reckless  abandon,  a 
good  humored  deviltry  about  his  rascality,  that  compelled  a 
kind  of  admiration. 

When  he  first  entered  the  room  he  announced  that  he  was 
a  prisoner,  too,  and  had  come  to  form  the  acquaintance  of  his 
fellow  prisoners. 

He  was  dressed  in  a  neatly-fitting  suit  of  home-spun  but- 
ternut. Long  tailed  frock  coat,  closely  fitting  pants,  broad 
brimmed  hat,  and  high  heeled  calf  boots.  His  small  hands 
and  long  tapered  fingers  and  small  feet  betokened  a  long  line 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  69 

* 

of  genteelly  worthless  if  not  genteel  ancestry.  He  wore  a 
belt  and  two  six-shooters  of  the  best  pattern,  and  had  spurs  on 
his  boots.  He  was  under  arrest  and  awaiting  trial,  as  he  told 
us,  for  some  scrape  he  had  been  in  where  a  few  negroes  had 
been  killed. 

On  his  second  visit,  he  complained  that  he  had  n't  had  a 
gallop  for  so  long  that  he  feared  that  he  would  forget  how  to 
ride,  and  wanted  to  know  if  some  Yank  did  n't  want  to  play 
horse.  Whether  or  not  anyone  volunteered,  I  cannot  now  re- 
member, but  he  was  soon  riding  Yanks  whether  they  wanted 
him  to  or  not.  He  climbed  on  their  backs  and  would  make 
them  gallop,  as  he  called  it,  up  and  down  the  room,  using  his 
spurs  the  same  as  he  would  on  a  horse. 

The  guards  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  him  and  the  prisoners 
were  either  afraid  or  deemed  it  more  prudent  to  submit  to  his 
devilment  than  to  have  a  row. 

Carr,  however,  declared  that  if  he  was  ever  called  on  to 
play  horse,  he  would  pitch  the  rider  through  the  window. 
Some  one  told  the  rebel  what  Carr  had  said,  and  so  he  pro- 
posed to  ride  Carr. 

"All  right,"  said  Carr,  "you  are  welcome  to  ride  me  if 
you  can,  but  do  n't  blame  me  if  you  get  hurt.  I  am  an  ornery 
sort  of  a  cuss,  anyway,  and  I  do  n't  know  what  kind  of  an  ani- 
mal I  would  make  if  I  were  turned  into  a  horse." 

Those  of  us  who  knew  Carr  best,  dreaded  the  result. 
We  felt  that  this  rebel  must  be  a  favorite  with  the  officers  in 
charge,  or  they  would  not  permit  his  wild  capers  that  had  be- 
come notorious,  and,  although  we  believed  Carr  could  take 
care  of  himself  notwithstanding  the  revolvers  the  rebel  wore, 
we  could  not  tell  what  the  rebel  officers  might  do  if  the  man 
should  be  hurt.  We  tried  to  get  the  rebel  to  play  some  other 


70  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

game.     He*  would  not.     He  wanted  to  break  in  a  new  horse. 

Carr  walked  to  one  end  of  the  room.  The  rebel  got  on, 
and  Carr  sure  enough  started  as  fast  as  he  could  go  for  the 
window  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  but  the  rebel,  having 
been  warned,  got  off  before  the  window  was  reached.  He 
began  to  bluster  but  had  hardly  time  to  utter  a  word  before 
Carr  was  standing  close  in  front  of  him.  For  a  moment  those 
two  black-eyed  men  glared  at  each  other.  Carr  spoke  no 
word,  but  something  that  the  rebel  saw  in  his  flashing  eyes 
and  pallid  face  caused  him  to  turn  on  his  heel  and  propose 
some  other  game. 

One  day  some  new  prisoners,  "  fresh  fish,"  were  brought 
in.  They  were  from  the  Marine  Brigade  —  Germans  —  at 
least  the  two  officers,  a  captain  and  a  lieutenant,  were  Ger- 
mans. The  captain  had  on  a  fine  pair  of  high-topped,  patent 
leather  cavalry  boots.  He  also  had  a  fine  meerschaum  pipe, 
a  handsomely  trimmed,  well  filled  bag  of  the  best  tobacco, 
and  some  money. 

Our  rebel  tormentor  began  at  once  to  make  love  to  this 
Dutch  Captain.  He  smoked  and  praised  his  pipe,  admired 
his  boots,  and  told  the  captain  that  he  would  stand  by  him  and 
see  that  these  things  were  not  taken  by  the  rebel  guard.  And 
stand  by  him  he  did,  for  when  the  new  guard  came  in  and  the 
"  fresh  fish  "  stood  up  with  the  rest  of  us  to  be  counted  and 
robbed,  this  rebel  rascal  led  the  captain  to  one  side,  and  the 
guards  did  not  offer  to  disobey  his  commands  that  they  should 
let  this  prisoner  alone. 

That  night  we  were  all  awakened  by  loud  swearing  in 
Dutch  brogue  and  a  big  racket  generally:  "Help!  Help! 
Mein  Gott !  Mein  Gott !  Mein  Gott  in  Himmel ! !  Help  every- 
bodies !  Help !  Help ! "  and  other  such  exclamations  were 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  71 

coming  from  the  Dutch  captain,  who  was  being  dragged 
around  the  room  by  his  rebel  protector.  The  rebel  had  se- 
cured the  pipe,  tobacco,  and  money,  and  was  engaged  in  re- 
moving the  boots,  which  the  captain  had  for  safety  not  taken 
off  when  he  went  to  bed.  Our  sympathies  were,  of  course, 
with  the  captain,  but  the  scene,  as  a  sequel  to  the  solicitous 
friendship  of  the  previous  day,  and  the  mixture  of  Dutch  and 
Dutch  brogue,  that  poured  from  the  mouth  of  the  captain, 
was  so  comical  that  we  could  not  restrain  our  laughter.  The 
captain  always  said  afterwards  that  "  Doze  Yankee  vat  makes 
de  big  laugh  bes  a  dam  site  vurse  in  my  esteem  dan  der  John- 
nies vot  stole  mine  boots." 

The  next  day  the  rebel  brought  in  a  cob  pipe  for  the 
captain,  and  allowed  him  to  fill  it  from  the  ornamental  tobacco 
pouch.  The  rebel  was  smoking  the  meerschaum  pipe,  which 
he  said  had  been  presented  to  him  by  one  of  the  officers  of  the 
"  Sea  Horse  Cavalry." 

These  were  samples  of  the  capers  of  that  handsome  ras- 
cal. He  was  one  of  a  very  numerous  class  well  described  by 
Sherman  on  page  337,  of  Volume  I,  of  his  memoirs,  where 
he  says: 

"Fourth.  The  young  bloods  of  the  South,  sons  of 
planters,  lawyers  about  towns,  good  billiard  players  and  sports- 
men, men  who  never  did  do  any  work  and  never  will.  War 
suits  them  and  the  rascals  are  brave,  fine  riders,  bold  to  rash- 
ness, and  dangerous  subjects  in  every  sense.  They  care  not 
a  sou  for  niggers,  land,  or  anything.  They  hate  Yankees 
per  se,  and  do  n't  bother  their  brains  about  the  past,  present,  or 
future.  As  long  as  they  have  good  horses,  plenty  of  forage 
and  an  open  country,  they  are  happy.  This  is  a  larger  class 
than  most  men  suppose,  and  they  are  the  most  dangerous  set 


73  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

of  men  that  this  war  has  turned  loose  upon  the  world.     They 
are  splendid  riders,  first-rate  shots  and  utterly  reckless.         * 
*         *         *         *  *  *          They  are  the  best 

cavalry  in  the  world,  but  it  will  tax  Mr.  Chase's  genius  for 
finance  to  supply  them  with  horses.  At  present,  horses  cost 
them  nothing,  for  they  take  where  they  find,  and  do  n't  bother 
their  brains  as  to  who  is  to  pay  for  them;  the  same  may  be 
said  of  the  corn  fields,  which  have,  as  they  believe,  been  cul- 
tivated by  a  good  natured  people  for  their  especial  benefit. 
We  propose  to  share  with  them  the  free  use  of  the  corn 
fields,  planted  by  willing  hands,  that  will  never  gather  the 
crops." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MOVED  TO  C  AH  ABA,    ALABAMA A    LITTLE    LEAVEN    FOR   THE 

LOAF 1    BORROW    BOOKS,    WRITE    NOTES,    AND    BECOME 

SENTIMENTAL A    PROMISING    ROMANCE    NIPPED    IN    THE 

BUD. 

The  railroads  from  Canton,  east,  having  been  destroyed 
by  Sherman  on  his  Meridian  campaign,  we  were  marched  on 
foot  across  the  country.  For  rations,  we  were  given  each 
night  a  sack  of  meal  and  some  meat.  Our  guards  seemed  to 
think  we  needed  nothing  to  cook  in.  We  mixed  the  meal 
with  water  in  buckets,  and  then  baked  it  by  our  camp-fire, 
either  by  filling  a  husk  from  an  ear  of  corn,  tying  the  end  and 
covering  it  in  the  ashes,  or  by  spreading  stiff  dough  on  a  board 
and  standing  it  up  before  the  fire. 

After  several  days  of  such  marching,  we  arrived  foot- 
sore and  weary  at  a  railroad  station,  and  from  there  we  were 
taken  on  the  cars  to  Selma,  Alabama. 

The  country  between  the  Tombigbee  and  Alabama  rivers 
that  we  crossed  on  the  way,  seemed  to  me  then  to  be  the 
finest  and  richest  that  I  had  ever  seen.  From  Selma,  we 
were  taken  to  Cahaba,  twelve  miles  below,  on  the  Alabama 
river.  Here  we  joined  a  still  larger  body  of  Union  soldiers 
who  had  been  taken  prisoners.  With  our  party,  there  were 
in  all  five  or  six  hundred. 

The  prison  was  a  large  cotton  warehouse.     The  outer 


74  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

wall  was  of  brick  and  enclosed  a  large  circle.  Inside,  a  circle 
of  posts  twenty  or  thirty  feet  from  the  wall,  supported  the 
roof  which  sloped  outward  to  the  wall.  The  circle  inside  the 
posts  was  uncovered.  Under  a  portion  of  the  roof,  bunks  had 
been  built,  one  over  another,  for  the  prisoners  to  sleep  on. 
These  were  more  than  full  before  our  arrival,  and  we  had  to 
take  up  our  quarters  on  the  ground,  there  being  no  floor  in  the 
enclosure. 

We  were  here  two  or  three  weeks,  during  which  time 
nothing  of  importance  transpired.  We  thought  then  that  we 
were  most  inhumanely  treated  because  we  were  given  no  bed- 
ding or  blankets,  and  nothing  but  the  ground  to  sleep  on. 
Otherwise,  we  had  nothing  to  complain  of;  our  food  was 
wholesome  and  sufficient. 

The  two  officers  in  charge  of  the  prison,  a  captain  and  a 
lieutenant,  whose  names  I  would  gladly  mention  if  I  could 
remember  them,  were  gentlemen.  We  did  not  know  enough 
then  about  life  in  rebel  prisons  to  fully  appreciate  their  kind- 
ness. Every  day  on  the  arrival  of  the  mail,  one  of  them 
would  bring  in  a  late  paper,  stand  up  on  a  box  and  read  the 
news.  In  many  other  ways,  such  as  procuring  writing 
material  and  forwarding  letters  for  us,  they  manifested  such 
kindly  feeling  as  one  honorable  soldier  will  always  manifest 
toward  a  brother  soldier,  enemy  though  he  be,  in  misfortune. 

On  our  arrival  at  Cahaba,  we  were  taken,  a  few  at  a  time, 
into  a  room,  where  these  officers  had  each  of  us  thoroughly 
searched,  telling  us  at  the  same  time  to  give  up  everything 
in  the  line  of  knives,  jewelry,  watches,  or  money,  and  that 
they  would  keep  a  list  of  everything,  and  return  all  at  a 
proper  time.  We  thought  this  a  ruse  to  get  us  to  give  up 
what  few  things  we  had  managed  to  secrete  from  all  previous 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  75 

searches.  Let  it  be  said  to  their  honor,  that  they  carried  out 
their  promises  to  the  letter,  and  that  when  we  were  taken  from 
Cahaba  to  Andersonville  prison-pen,  they  came  in  and  re- 
turned to  every  Cahaba  prisoner,  the  articles  taken,  as  shown 
by  the  list.  They  then  expressed  their  sorrow  and  shame 
for  the  horrors  of  that  awful  place. 

One  thing  they  did  which  was  wrong,  if  they  did  it  know- 
ingly. The  day  we  were  to  leave  Cahaba,  one  of  them  came 
in  to  read  as  usual,  and  read  from  a  paper  a  long  account  of 
an  arrangement  having  been  made  for  an  exchange  of  prison- 
ers. They  led  us  to  believe  that  we  were  to  be  taken  at  once 
to  the  place  agreed  on  for  exchange,  thus  preventing  many 
of  us  from  making  an  attempt  to  escape,  as  we  surely  would 
have  done,  had  we  not  been  deluded  by  the  hope  of 
exchange. 

I  must  not,  however,  leave  Cahaba  without  mention  of 
one  example  of  truly  chivalrous  conduct.  Soon  after  entering 
that  prison,  I  noticed  that  many  of  the  prisoners  were  reading 
books,  and  pamphlets,  histories,  novels,  and  books  on  philoso- 
phy, science,  and  religion.  Some  of  these  books  were  new 
and  nicely  bound,  others  much  worn  and  evidently  the  worse 
from  prison  use.  By  inquiring,  I  found  that  these  books  were 
furnished  to  the  prisoners  by  a  young  lady  who  lived  near  the 
prison,  and  that  by  sending  a  request  by  one  of  the  rebel 
guards,  I  could  get  a  book.  I  accordingly  wrote  a  polite  note, 
saying  that  I  would  be  glad  to  borrow  something  to  read,  and 
sent  it  to  this  lady  by  one  of  the  rebel  guards.  He  returned 
with  one  of  Scott's  novels.  Having  read  this,  I  returned  it 
and  got  another,  and  had  something  to  read  all  the  time  I  was 
there,  as  did  every  other  prisoner  who  so  desired. 

The  books  she  sent,  whether  all  her  own  or  borrowed  in 


76  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

part,  were  almost  all  so  badly  worn  and  soiled  by  the 
constant  use  in  hands  none  too  clean,  as  to  be  of  little  value 
afterward.  In  fact,  that  young  lady  sacrificed  her  library 
for  our  sakes;  and,  in  doing  so,  she  furnished  the  only  ex- 
ample that  I  ever  witnessed  or  of  which  I  have  ever  heard, 
of  disinterested  kindness  to  a  Yankee  prisoner  from  a  rebel 
lady. 

The  note  I  sent  out  for  books  was  addressed  to  Miss 
Belle  Gardner.  Returning  the  first  book  obtained,  I  sent  a 
note  of  thanks  and  a  request  for  another  book  and  so  on,  mak- 
ing each  note  a  little  longer  and  a  little  less  formal  until  I  drew 
from  her  a  short  note  in  reply.  Then  with  each  new  book,  I 
got  a  note. 

Young  as  I  was,  naturally  fond  of  adventure,  and  the 
natural  bent  of  my  mind  stimulated  by  constant  reading  of 
Scott's,  Bulwer's,  and  other  novels,  is  it  any  wonder  that  my 
correspondence  with  this  young  lady  began  to  seem  to  me 
romantic,  and  that  I  began  to  entertain  for  her  feelings  stronger 
than  those  of  gratitude?  I  was  not  head  over  heels  in  love, 
badly  mashed  as  you  boys  of  today  would  say,  but  I  was 
conscious  of  a  turbulent  desire  to  see  my  kind  but  unknown 
correspondent. 

There  was  an  enclosure  or  yard  around  the  door  of  the 
prison  where  we  did  our  washing  and  cooking.  It  was  a  high 
board  fence,  the  boards  nailed  on  up  and  down  close  together. 
Only  those  whose  turn  it  was  to  do  the  cooking  for  a  mess 
were  allowed  to  be  in  this  yard.  One  day  when  I  was  out 
there  as  cook,  I  ascertained  from  a  guard  that  Miss  Belle 
lived  in  a  house  across  the  street.  Then  I  enlarged  the  crack 
between  two  boards  of  the  fence  with  a  jack-knife,  making  a 
hole  large  enough  so  that  I  could  get  a  good  view  of  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  77 

f 
house.     There  was  no  trouble  about  getting  into  this  yard; 

all  I  had  to  do  was  to  take  the  place  of  someone  whose  turn  it 
was  to  cook  and  who  found  no  pleasure  in  the  task.  For 
several  days,  most  of  my  time  was  spent  at  my  hole  in  the 
wall,  eager  for  a  glimpse  of  the  damsel  whom  my  excited 
imagination  had  pictured  as  possessing  all  the  beauty,  loveli- 
ness, grace,  and  other  heroine  qualities  of  a  Rebecca. 

My  vigils  were  never  rewarded.  I  sent  her  a  note  re- 
questing her  to  appear  at  a  certain  hour  on  the  porch.  She 
never  appeared.  Then  I  cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  one  of 
the  guards,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  arrange  through  him  for 
a  meeting  outside  the  prison,  when  orders  came  for  our  re- 
moval, and  the  conditions  and  materials  for  an  exquisite  ro- 
mance in  real  life  were  rudely  broken  and  scattered. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CAHABA     REVISITED     IN     1884 A     DELIGHTFUL     RIDE  THE 

FREEDMEN    OF    THE  SOUTH A    DESERTED  VILLAGE AN 

OLD    MANSION MRS.    GARDNER,    "THE    FRIEND    OF     THE 

UNFORTUNATE." 

In  the  spring  of  1884,  just  after  the  opening  chapter  of 
this  little  book  was  written,  finding  it  almost  impossible  to 
write  with  any  satisfaction  while  subject  to  the  usual  interrup- 
tions and  annoyances  of  business  life,  I  resolved  to  cut  loose 
from  all  communications,  and  devote  a  few  weeks  exclusively 
to  the  work  in  hand.  Besides,  I  had  often  thought  I  would 
like  to  see  that  Southern  country  again,  and  that  a  trip  over 
the  old  war  path  would  quicken  my  recollection  of  the  places 
and  incidents  about  which  I  wished  to  write.  Of  course  I 
visited  Cahaba. 

I  arrived  at  Selma  early  in  April,  just  twenty  years  to  a 
day  from  the  time  I  went  through  there  a  prisoner  of  war. 

Selma  is  a  beautiful  city  of  five  or  six  thousand  people, 
situated  on  the  Alabama  River,  and  in  the  "  black  belt  "  of 
Alabama.  Had  always  supposed  that  the  "black  belt"  of 
Alabama  was  a  region  where  black  negroes  were  thicker 
than  elsewhere.  It  is  the  region  of  black  soil.  I  was  not  far 
out  of  the  way,  however,  because  the  negroes  are  thicker  in 
the  "black  belt"  than  elsewhere. 

I  shall  always  remember  with  pleasure  my  ride  on  that 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  79 

delightful  April  morning  from  Selma  down  the  river  to  Cahaba. 
April  there  corresponds  to  June  here  in  South  Dakota.  I 
rode  horse-back.  It  was  to  me  like  riding  through  a  botani- 
cal paradise.  Spring-time  just  blooming  into  summer  and  such 
a  profusion  of  flowers.  There  were  great  trees  loaded  with 
blossoms,  and  the  ground  was  covered  with  flowers  in  full 
bloom.  Where  the  road  passed  through  cultivated  land,  the 
hedge  on  each  side  was  covered  with  the  Cherokee  rose,  and 
was  a  solid  mass  of  variegated  color.  There  were  great,  tall, 
pine  trees  covered  to  the  top  with  the  blossoms  of  the  Chero- 
kee rose.  And  then  the  music  in  the  air  from  the  thousands 
of  feathered  songsters,  each  singing  as  though  it  were  trying 
to  drown  the  notes  of  all  the  rest. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  market  day.  The  road  was  thronged 
with  negroes  going  to  market.  What  subjects  there  for  an 
artist's  sketch-book.  All  kinds  and  conditions  of  the  farming 
class  of  negroes.  Some  on  foot,  carrying  bundles  on  their 
heads.  Some  on  mules  or  horses,  carrying  all  manner  of 
truck  before  and  behind;  some  in  carts  or  wagons  drawn 
by  mules  or  horses,  or  a  horse  and  a  mule,  and  sometimes  a 
mule  and  an  ox.  Old,  broken-down  horses,  lame  or  blind,  or 
both,  hitched  to  older  and  worse  broken  buggies  and  car- 
riage,0, with  old  straps  and  ropes,  which  were  tied  together 
for  harness.  Men,  women,  and  children ;  it  seemed  as  though  no 
member  of  any  family  had  staid  at  home.  Chickens,  ducks, 
geese,  pigs,  sheep,  a  fatted  calf,  garden  truck,  butter,  eggs, 
and  one  bale  of  cotton,  were  being  hauled,  carried  or  "  toted  " 
to  market. 

One  day  spent  at  the  market  in  Selma,  on  market-day, 
will  give  a  man  a  better  idea  of  the  condition  of  the  freedmen 
of  the  South  than  he  can  get  by  reading  all  the  speeches  on 


8o  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

that  subject  that  have  been  printed  in  the  Congressional 
Globe,  during  the  last  twenty  years. 

I  had  remembered  Cahaba  as  a  bright  little  town  of  two 
or  three  thousand  inhabitants.  As  I  approached  the  place 
that  morning,  I  noticed  with  some  surprise  that  the  road  in- 
stead of  becoming  better  traveled,  was  dwindling  away  to  a 
mere  wood  road,  such  as  the  use  from  an  ordinary  farm  would 
make.  Coming  out  of  the  woods  to  the  river  bank  and  look- 
ing across  to  where  I  expected  to  see  a  city,  behold,  there 
were  but  a  few,  and  those  apparently  abandoned,  houses. 
There  is  an  old-fashioned  ferry  worked  with  poles.  It  takes 
nearly  an  hour  of  yelling  to  bring  the  ferryman,  who  explains 
to  me  that  "De  City  ob  Cahaba  mos'  all  ben  moved  to  Selma." 
Cahaba  was  once  the  capital  of  Alabama.  Before  the  war, 
it  was  the  county  seat,  and  a  prosperous  place ;  had  a  railroad ; 
the  county  seat  was  moved  to  Selma,  and  then  the  town 
died.  The  railroad  wras  abandoned,  and  most  of  the  brick 
houses  were  taken  down  and  transported  on  boats  to  Selma 
and  other  places.  To  a  northern  man,  it  seems  strange  that  a 
town  located  on  a  navigable  river,  with  railroad  communica- 
tions, could  be  brought  so  low. 

There  was  nothing  there,  not  even  a  brick  or  stone,  noth- 
ing but  a  rank  growth  of  weeds  to  mark  the  place  where  the 
old  prison  warehouse  stood.  Only  a  few  white  families  were 
left  in  the  place,  and  these  were  very  poor.  I  found  a  white 
man,  George  Brenner,  who  was  one  of  the  guards  when  the 
Yankee  prisoners  were  there.  He  knew  the  Gardners;  was 
living  in  the  house  that  was  occupied  by  them  when  I  was  a 
prisoner.  It  was  not  the  house  that  I  had  watched  so  long 
and  so  anxiously  through  my  hole  in  the  fence.  I  had  been 
the  victim  of  a  guard's  mistake.  This  man  told  me  that  the 
Gardners  were  living  in 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  81 

I  was  much  interested  in  this  "Deserted  Village."  It  is 
a  charming  site  for  a  city,  and  on  the  banks  of  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  rivers  in  the  world. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  center  of  the  old  town,  there 
stands  an  old  mansion,  not  old  enough  to  have  shown  the  rav- 
ages of  time  had  there  been  no  years  of  neglect,  which  is,  on 
a  smaller  scale,  almost  a  fac  simile  of  the  White  House  at 
Washington.  It  is  white,  finished  on  the  outside  in  imitation  of 
stone,  has  an  imposing  porch  with  Grecian  columns,  grand  hall 
and  stairway,  and  large  rooms  with  high  ceilings.  The  ex- 
tensive grounds  are  artistically  laid  out.  There  are  graveled 
walks,  flowers,  shrubbery,  and  trees  in  endless  variety.  There 
are  two  artesian  wells,  one  of  them  said  to  be  the  second  in 
rank  in  all  the  world  measured  by  the  force  with  which  the 
water  comes  out.  It  was  out  of  repair  when  I  was  there,  but 
the  old  woman  in  charge  said  that  if  I  were  to  drop  a  twenty- 
dollar  gold  piece  into  the  pipe,  it  would  fly  right  up  in  the  air. 
I  took  her  word  for  it. 

All  this  property  is  under  the  charge  of  one  old  negro 
woman.  She  had  lived  there  a  long  time  before  the  war  as  a 
slave,  and  I  sat  for  hours  listening  to  her  stories  of  the  grand 
old  times  she  used  to  see  in  that  mansion.  Weddings,  balls, 
parties  that  lasted  for  weeks.  It  was  one  of  the  places  where 
in  her  days  of  wealth  and  lavish  hospitality,  the  "Sunny  South" 
had  been  wont  to  gather  her  "  beauty  and  her  chivalry." 

What  a  delightful  story  it  would  make  if  some  such 
writer  as  Cable  should  re-people  that  old  town  and  that  old 
mansion,  and  weave  into  fiction  the  facts  that  such  old  negroes 
could  give. 

I  found  Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner  living  with  her  daughter 
Belle,  in  a  rented  house,  in  Selma.  She  is  over  60  years  old, 


82  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

but  quite  active  for  one  of  that  age.  She  is  of  good  family, 
and  in  every  sense,  a  lady  of  culture  and  refinement.  She-  is 
a  fluent  talker  and  uses  elegant  language.  One  of  the  leading 
men  of  the  place  told  me  that  Mrs.  Gardner  had  the  reputation 
of  being  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  and  most  intelligent  women 
in  the  country.  The  daughter,  Belle,  is  a  dressmaker,  an 
occupation  she  very  much  dislikes,  but  is  compelled  to  follow, 
in  order  to  earn  a  living  for  herself  and  mother.  Belle  was 
only  a  little  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  in  April,  1864,  and 
wore  short  dresses. 

Mrs.  Gardner  was  during  the  war,  and  still  is,  for  that 
matter,  a  thorough  rebel.  That  is,  she  believed  the  South 
was  right,  and  still  believes  so.  She  had  one  son  killed  early 
in  the  war,  and  another,  a  mere  boy,  was  in  the  service  and 
was  taken  prisoner  at  Selma,  by  General  Wilson's  cavalry. 
Wilson's  men  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Gardner's  kindness  to  Union 
prisoners,  and  as  a  token  of  appreciation,  they  set  her  boy  at 
liberty  and  sent  him  home  to  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Gardner  said  that  when  the  prison  was  established 
at  Cahaba,  she  had  a  large  library  of  choice  books  that  had 
been  given  to  her  by  her  uncle,  Judge  Beverly  Walker,  of 
Augusta.  It  was  his  private  library,  and  he  gave  it  to  her 
when  he  broke  up  house-keeping.  She  said  that  her  heart 
was  moved  to  pity  by  the  forlorn  condition  of  the  prisoners, 
and  she  began  to  loan  them  books.  She  had  all  the  standard 
poets,  in  handsome  binding.  Scott's,  Dickens',  and  Lytton's 
novels,  and  many  others  in  complete  sets.  Histories,  biogra- 
phies, books  of  travel,  works  on  science,  philosophy,  and 
religion.  A  large  and  well-selected  private  library.  Nearly 
all  of  these  books  were  completely  worn  out.  Only  those  in 
calf  binding  and  on  the  less  interesting  subjects  of  philosophy, 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  83 

science,  and  religion,  were  left  whole,  and  even  these  were 
much  worn  and  soiled.  I  saw  in  a  second-hand  store  and 
auction  house  at  Selma,  where  she  had  placed  them  for  sale, 
two  or  three  dozen  of  those  worn  and  soiled  books,  all  that 
was  left  of  Mrs.  Gardner's  once  elegant  library. 

Lending  books  was  not  all  that  Mrs.  Gardner  did.  She 
took  especial  interest  in  those  that  became  sick,  and  procured 
and  furnished  them  with  suitable  food  and  medicines.  Several 
were  nursed  in  her  own  house.  When  winter  came,  many  of 
the  prisoners  had  no  blankets  and  but  little  clothing.  She 
gave  them  everything  she  had  in  her  house  that  she  could 
possibly  spare,  and  procured  all  she  could  from  her  neghbors. 
Said  she  took  up  every  carpet  she  had  and  cut  it  into  pieces 
the  size  of  a  blanket,  in  order  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  those 
poor  prisoners. 

These  things  were  not  done  in  a  corner.  Mrs.  Gardner 
was  arraigned,  either  before  the  church  or  some  citizens' 
meeting,  on  the  charge  of  being  a  Union  woman,  and  of  fur- 
nishing aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy.  Captain  H.  H.  N. 
Henderson,  who  had  the  immediate  charge  of  the  prison, 
came  to  her  relief  and  boldly  defended  her,  endorsing  all  she 
had  done.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  assistance,  she  would 
doubtless  have  been  found  guilty,  and  banished.  I  presume 
that  he  is  the  officer  that  had  charge  of  the  prison  when  I  was 
there,  and  who  went  with  us  to  Andersonville. 

Mrs.  Gardner  showed  me  over  one  hundred  notes  written 
by  prisoners,  some  addressed  to  her,  and  some  to  Miss  Belle. 
These  tell  the  story  of  what  she  did,  and  at  the  same  time 
furnish  indisputable  proof  of  it.  She  had  two  bundles  of  these 
notes  containing  requests  and  acknowledgments,  but  she  lost 
one  bundle  when  she  moved  from  Cahaba  to  Selma.  I  did 


84  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

not  find  among  those  she  had,  any  that  were  written  by  my- 
self. She  has  also  received  since  the  war,  a  good  many  letters 
from  prisoners  whom  she  befriended,  and  some  have  re- 
membered her  with  presents. 

When  I  saw  the  proofs  that  Mrs.  Gardner  possessed,  of 
the  things  she  did,  and  the  sacrifices  she  made  for  Union 
prisoners,  I  supposed  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world 
to  get  congress  to  pass  an  act  for  her  relief  and  remuneration. 
I  at  once  opened  correspondence  with  senators  and  members  of 
the  House.  They  all  said  that  to  pass  such  an  act,  would  be 
to  let  down  the  bars  for  thousands  of  other  claims  in  which 
there  was  no  merit.  It  would  be  a  precedent  that  they 
dare  not  establish. 

Something  ought  to  be  done  for  Mrs.  Gardner.  She  is 
old  and  poor,  and  is  probably  the  only  southern  lady  of  rebel 
sentiments,  who  actuated  by  Christian  charity  alone,  furnished 
aid  and  comfort  to  distressed  Union  prisoners. 


NOTE.  —  Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner  is  now  living  with  her  daughter  Belle, 
in  New  York.  She  is  at  this  date,  February,  1888,  seventy-two  years  old. 
Her  address  is  No.  4,  West  Thirteenth  Street.  The  following  are  samples  of 
the  notes  she  has  kept  that  were  sent  her  by  Union  prisoners: 


MILITARY  PRISON,      ) 
CAHABA,  ALA.,  June  4th.  ) 

Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner:     Will  you  please  send  some  books  to  the  sub- 
scribers to  while  away  the  hours  of  prison  life.     Respectfully, 

J.  R.  BOWEN, 
CHAS.  REYNOLDS, 
CHAS.  HARRIS, 
JAMES  FARRELL. 


CASTLE  MORGAN,  June,  5th. 

Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner:     Please  accept  my   thanks  for  the  loan  of  this; 
be  kind  enough  to  send  me  another.  CHAS.  HARRIS, 

Co.  K,  i3th  Ills.  Vol. 


CAHABA  PRISON,  March  1410. 

Mrs.  Gardner:     If  you  please  to  send  me  some  nice  interesting  book  to 
read  and  I  will  return  it  with  care.  B.  F.  DAUGHTERY, 

Private  of  Co.  H,  3yth  Reg't.  Ills.  Inft.  Vol. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  85 


PRISON. 

Mrs.  Gardner:     Will  you  please  let  five  of  us  have  your  washing  machine 
and  tub  to  wash  some  clothes.  CLEMENT  BALLINGER. 


CAHABA,  ALA.,  March  5,  1865. 
Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner: 

KIND  MADAM  —  We  are  all  about  to  bid  farewell  to  Castle  Morgan.  Some 
are  already  on  their  homeward  journey;  we  will  soon  follow,  rejoicing  we  are 
once  more  free.  I  feel  I  cannot  leave  without  first  expressing  my  heartfelt 
thanks  to  you  for  the  noble  and  humane  kindness  you  have  so  generously  be- 
stowed upon  the  prisoners  while  confined  here;  aiding  them  by  the  kind  dis- 
pensation of  your  books  amongst  them,  to  while  away  the  tedious  hours  of 
captivity  both  pleasantly  and  instructively,  which  otherwise  would  have  been 
passed  in  discontent  and  lonesome  weariness.  I  regret  exceedingly,  that  there 
were  some  among  them,  who  were  so  worthless,  as  to  abuse  your  books  in  a 
shameful  manner,  but  the  majority  appreciating  the  noble  impulses  of  thy 
generous  heart,  were  careful  in  the  use  of  the  works,  knowing  full  well  that 
you  were  making  a  noble  sacrifice  of  your  library  for  their  benefit.  I  regret 
that  one  of  the  books  returned  to  you,  entitled  "  Famous  Persons  and  Places," 
is  so  badly  abused ;  it  was  stolen  from  me,  and  for  a  long  time  I  knew  not  what 
had  become  of  it;  after  making  repeated  inquiries,  it  was  returned  to  me  in  its 
present  condition.  Trusting  you  will  pardon  me,  as  I  regret  exceedingly  that 
such  a  thing  occurred.  Be  assured,  kind  Madam,  that  when  we  are  once  more 
surrounded  by  kind  and  loving  friends,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  makes 
life  happy  and  agreeable,  our  thoughts  will  often  revert  to  our  kind  Bene- 
factress at  Cahaba;  many  a  silent  prayer  will  be  sent  heavenward,  that  you 
and  your  lovely  family  may  be  spared  the  horrors  of  this  unnatural  and  re- 
lentless war.  Many  a  man  will  speak  in  glowing  terms  of  thy  noble  gener- 
osity, and  you  will  ever  be  remembered  as  a  friend  of  the  unfortunate.  The 
day  is  not  far  distant  when  Peace,  the  great  tranquilizer,  will  again  unite  our 
distracted  country  in  perfect  harmony  and  unity.  The  end  is  fast  approaching 
when  we  may  again  enjoy  all  the  requisites  that  make  life  both  pleasant  and 
agreeable.  Civil  and  Religious  Liberty  is  just  as  sure  to  rule  supreme,  as 
Jehovah  guides  the  Universe. 

May  Heaven's  richest  blessings  descend  upon  you  and  your  darling  family; 
and  when  thou  art  called  hence  to  that  "bourne  whence  no  traveler  returns," 
may  you  ascend  to  that  glorious  abode  of  angels,  "  where  wars,  and  rumors  of 
wars  are  never  heard,"  is  the  wish  of  one  who  is  happy  to  subscribe  himself 
your  well  wisher.  Farewell. 

Very  respectfully, 

C.  W.  HAYES, 
Hospital  Steward,  3rd.  Ills.  Vol.  Cavalry. 


CAHABA  PRISON. 

Mrs.  Gardner :     Will  you  please  send  a  book  to  read.     I  will  take  care  of 
it,  and  return  it  in  good  order.  GEO.  H.  CHADWICK, 

Co.  C,  ist  Ills.  Cav. 


Mrs.  Gardner:  May  the  blessing  of  God  ever  descend  upon  thy  devoted 
head,  for  your  kind  consideration  concerning  the  unfortunate,  is  the  prayer  of 
one  who  appreciates  the  noble  impulses  of  thy  generous  heart. 

Yours  in  friendship,  A  PRISONER. 

ADDRESS: 

"  Mrs.  Amanda  Gardner, 

Cahaba,  Alabama. 
A  lady  of  excellent  worth,  and  a  friend  to  those  in  distress." 


86  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 


CAHABA,  ALA.,  PRISON,  ) 
April  n,  1864.  \ 

Mrs.Gardner:     Please  lend  me  "  Botta's  History."     I  will  take  good  care 
of  it  and  return  when  done.     Your  Ob't  Serv't,          JAS.  B.  SLUSSER, 

3rd.  Ills.  Cav.  Vol. 


CASTLE  MORGAN, 
July  8,  '64. 
Mrs.  A.  Gardner: 

DEAR  MADAM  —  I  return  the  book  that  you  lent  me,  and  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  it.  I  have  taken  the  best  care  of  it  that  I  could .  If  you 
have  the  other  volume  of  the  same  work,  I  would  be  very  glad  if  you  would 
lend  it  to  me;  and  if  not,  I  am  glad  to  get  any  book  that  is  interesting. 

Yours  Respectfully, 

WILLIAM  ENGLISH, 

Co.  F,  7th  Ky.  Cavalry. 


CAHABA,  ALA.,  ) 
July  nth,  1864.  \ 

Madam:     In  returning  the  accompanying   books  with  many  thanks,   I 
would  respectfully  beg  of  you  the  loan  of  another.     Yours  Obediently, 

J.  W.  S.  BEATTIE, 
2d  La.  Fed.  Cavalry. 


Madam:  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  send  me  —  a  prisoner  —  one  or  two 
books  to  pass  away  the  time.  Having  heard  from  our  men  how  kind  you  have 
been  in  sending  reading  matter  to  them,  I  make  so  bold  in  addressing  you  in 
my  behalf.  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  very  respectfully,  your  obd't  servant, 

THOS.  MCELROY, 

To—  Capt.  U.  S.  Navy. 

Mrs.  Gardner. 


CAHABA  PRISON,  May  2ist. 

Mrs.  Gardner :  Please  excuse  me  for  troubling  you  for  a  little  vinegar,  as 
I  have  a  high  fever  every  day  and  crave  it,  and  I  believe  it  would  do  me  much 
good.  Yours  with  respect,  MICHAEL  O'FARRKL, 

iiSth  111.  Mt'd  Inft. 


APRIL  1 5th,  1864. 
Will  Mrs.  Gardner  please  send  me  a  book  to  read,  and  oblige, 

Very  Resp't,  JAMES  MILLER. 

4th  U.  S.  Cav. 


CAHABA,  Jan.  i8th,  1864. 

Respected  Madam:  An  unfortunate  prisoner  of  war  begs  you  will  excuse 
the  liberty  he  has  taken  in  thus  addressing  you.  Your  many  acts  of  kindness 
to  us  will  ever  be  gratefully  remembered.  If  possible  to  repay  you,  how 
gladly  would  we.  But  Madam  we  know  your  noble  heart  would  resent  any 
such  offering,  and  we  have  only  the  opportunity  left  us  of  returning  you  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  87 


heartfelt  thanks  of  all  the  prisoners.  And  now  I  trespass  on  your  kindness 
still  further.  My  time  for  service  has  nearly  expired.  I  do  most  earnestly 
desire  to  be  exchanged.  If  within  your  power,  by  your  kindly  influence,  to 
assist  me,  the  remembrance  of  the  happiness  you  would  confer  on  an  unfortun- 
ate man,  I  am  sure,  would  amply  repay  your  generous  nature. 

I  am,  most  respectfully, 

ANDREW  MCFARLAND. 

NOTE.  —  My  mother  secured  his  exchange,  and  he  went  his  way  rejoicing. 

—  BELLE  GARDNER. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WE   LEAVE   CAHABA A   SONG   BATTLE "LET   THE  DAMN 

YANKEES  STARVE" — WE  ENTER  ANDERSONVILLE — WALK- 
ING   MUMMIES   AND    SMOKED    SKELETONS DISCOURAGING 

PROSPECTS. 

I  have  already  stated  that  we  were  moved  from  Cahaba 
to  Andersonville.  Before  starting,  three  days'  rations  of  meat, 
rice,  and  meal,  were  issued  to  us.  Unfortunately,  we  cooked 
it  all,  and  before  we  reached  Montgomery,  by  steamboat — it 
is  needless  to  remark  that  we  were  all  deck  passengers — our 
rations  of  rice  and  meal  had  soured,  and  could  not  be  eaten. 
At  Montgomery,  the  officers  procured  all  the  meal  they  could 
for  us,  but  not  enough  to  go  round.  There  we  were  put  on 
flat-cars,  some  in  box-cars,  and  started,  as  we  were  told,  to 
Savannah  to  be  exchanged. 

At  Columbus,  our  locomotive  gave  out  and  our  rations 
likewise,  and  we  stopped  for  repairs.  We  were  there  from 
noon  of  one  day  until  afternoon  of  the  next.  Although  we 
were  all  without  food  and  hungry,  and  made  our  necessities 
known  to  hundreds  of  people  that  flocked  around  to  see  us, 
an  ear  of  corn  each  was  all  we  received.  I  was  satisfied  that 
the  officers  in  charge  tried  to  do  better  by  us,  but  there  was 
no  quartermaster  there,  and  they  had  no  money  with  which  to 
pay  for  what  the  citizens  were  unwilling  to  give.  We  heard 
many  such  remarks  as:  "Let  the  damn  Yankees  starve. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  89 

They  will  soon  learn  to  do  without  eating,  and  they  may  as 
well  begin  now,"  etc.  Had  we  known  then  what  we  soon 
after  learned,  we  would  surely  have  made  a  break  for  liberty. 

There  was  an  old  unoccupied  hotel  building  near  the 
railroad  track,  and  our  guards  allowed  some  of  us  to  go  into 
it  to  pass  the  night.  It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight-evening, 
and  a  crowd  of  young  people,  boys  and  young  ladies,  gathered 
there  to  see  us.  Some  of  our  boys  began  to  sing  Union 
songs.  Then  the  southern  girls  gave  us  a  rebel  song,  and 
directly  we  were  having  a  song-battle,  and  turn  about,  we 
fired  songs  at  each  other  until  long  into  the  night. 

At  Fort  Valley,  in  Georgia,  we  were  turned  on  to  a  track 
that  we  knew  did  not  lead  to  Savannah,  and  by  inquiring  from 
those  who  came  around  to  see  the  Yankee  prisoners,  we 
learned  that  Andersonville,  the  great  prison-pen,  was  on  the 
road  ahead  of  us.  Our  guards,  too,  were  doubled  there.  But 
though  our  hopes  of  immediate  exchange  began  to  vanish, 
little  did  we  dream  what  Andersonville  meant.  We  supposed 
it  to  be  something  like  Cahaba,  and  though  that  was  not  a 
comfortable  place,  it  was  endurable.  We  were  out  of  food 
when  we  got  to  Columbus.  Forty-eight  hours  afterward,  we 
came  in  sight  of  a  stockade  in  which,,  we  were  told,  there  were 
20,000  Union  soldiers.  Forty-eight  hours  without  other  food 
than  a  little  corn,  makes  a  healthy  man  hungry.  I  was  not 
only  healthy,  but  young  and  growing.  I  was  hungry,  but  I 
thought  to  myself,  in  fact  it  was  the  expressed  thought  of  all, 
we  will  soon  be  among  friends  who  will  be  glad  to  relieve 
our  pressing  wants.  In  this  instance  there  was  more  pleasure 
in  anticipation  than  in  participation. 

No  pen,  no  words  can  describe,  no  pencil  can  approach 
the  scene  that  burst  upon  our  astonished  eyes,  as  we  entered 


90  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

the  gate  of  that  —  I  shall  not  call  it  infernal,  nor  terrible,  nor 
horrible,  nor  hell's  hole,  but  simply  Andersonville ;  and  here- 
after, when  a  writer  would  describe  a  misery  so  infernal,  or 
depict  a  horror  so  atrocious  that  no  suitable  words  can  be 
found  in  any  language,  let  him  merely  liken  it  unto  the 
miseries  and  horrors  of  Andersonville. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  when  we  started  from  the  station 
to  the  prison.  It  was  about  dark  when  we  reached  the  outer 
gate.  As  we  approached,  sounds  came  to  our  ears,  at  first 
like  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  heard  a  long  way  off.  Drawing 
nearer,  the  noise  resembled  somewhat  that  made  by  a  large 
army  going  into  camp.  It  was  unlike  the  noise  of  an  army 
or  the  roar  of  a  large  city,  because  there  were  no  sounds  of 
wheels  or  rattle  of  tools.  It  was  a  Babel  of  human  voices 
only.  There  was  something  strangely  doleful  and  ominous, 
even  in  those  sounds. 

The  gates  •were  thrown  open.  On  each  side  of  what 
seemed  a  street,  leaving  room  for  us  to  pass  in  column  of 
twos,  we  saw  a  dense  mass  of  beings.  Those  in  the  front 
rank  held  in  their  hands  cups,  cans,  and  little  pails,  and  chunks 
of  bread.  They  are  there,  we  thought,  to  hand  us  food  as  we 
pass.  We  entered.  The  line  on  either  side  was  a  lin«  of 
living,  human  skeletons,  walking  mummies;  ragged,  many 
nearly  naked,  all  skin  and  bone,  black  as  Indians,  not  exactly 
smoked  Yanks,  but  the  smoked  skeletons  of  Yanks.  We 
were  hungry.  These  men  seemed  to  be  starved.  There 
they  stood,  their  great  eyes  protruding  beyond  their  gaunt 
and  bony  cheeks;  their  limbs,  half  covered,  showed  great, 
swollen  joints,  black,  bruised-looking  elbows  and  knees,  and 
great  puff-balls  for  feet.  The  feet  of  many,  looked  like  box- 
ing gloves.  All  this  we  saw  in  sections,  as  it  were,  by  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  91 

uncanny,  flickering  smoking  light  of  a  pine  knot  torch  or  a 
"  fat "  pine  stick,  that  here  and  there  one  of  the  creatures  held 
in  his  hand. 

"The  brows  of  (these)  men,  by  the  despairing  light, 
Wore  an  unearthly  aspect,  as  by  fits 
The  flashes  fell  upon  them." 

Yes,  nearly  every  one  of  the  front  rank  had  food  or  wood 
in  his  hands,  but  not  to  give.  They  were  there  to  barter  or 
to  sell.  The  majority  of  us  had  nothing  with  which  to  buy, 
nothing  to  trade.  We  did  not  ask  for  anything.  There  was 
that  in  these  surroundings  which,  if  it  did  not  make  us  forget 
our  hunger,  made  us  feel  that  our  misery  was  not  worthy  of 
mention.  I  have  noticed  that  beggars  on  a  street  do  not  so- 
licit alms  while  a  funeral  procession  is  going  by. 

We  stood  a  long  time  in  that  street  before  we  were 
assigned  even  a  portion  of  bare  ground  on  which  to  stretch 
our  weary  limbs.  The  two  rebel  officers  who  had  been  in 
charge  of  us  from  Cahaba,  set  about  getting  us  something  to 
eat.  About  10  o'clock,  rations  were  sent  in;  a  pint  of  corn 
meal  and  a  little  salt  for  each  man.  Raw  meal  and  salt! 
How  cook  it?  What  in?  What  with?  In  all  that  pen, 
you  could  n't  pick  up  enough  wood  to  make  a  match.  We 
had  nothing  to  draw  our  rations  in,  much  less  to  cook  them 
in.  I  turned  the  sleeve  of  my  jacket,  tied  the  end  with  a 
piece  of  the  lining,  and  in  this,  received  a  quart  of  meal  for 
myself  and  Lynn  B.  Cook.  We  were  bunk-mates  or  bed- 
fellows, without  either  bunk  or  bed.  Some  mixed  their  meal 
and  salt  with  a  little  water  and  ate  it  raw.  Others  bought  or 
traded  for  a  little  wood  and  borrowed  pans  in  which  to  bake. 
Cook  and  myself  found  a  Grant  county  man  from  a  Wisconsin 
regiment,  who  was  kind  enough  to  lend  us  a  skillet  and  a  little 
wood.  Our  hunger  appeased,  we  lay  down  on  the  bare  ground 


92  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

without  cover  or  shelter,  to  sleep,  and  thus  we  passed  our 
first  night  in  Andersonville. 

The  next  morning  we  were  counted  off  into  divisions, 
ninety  in  a  division.  Twelve  divisions  formed  what  was  called 
a  detatchment.  To  each  detachment  was  allotted  a  small 
piece  of  bare  ground  on  which  to  camp.  We  were  told 
that  this  bare  ground  to  sleep  on,  a  scant  pint  of  meal,  a 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  meat  or  its  equivalent  in  rice  or  beans, 
and  a  piece  of  green  wood  as  large  as  a  small  piece  of  stove 
wood,  these  once  each  day,  and  a  spoonful  of  salt  once 
each  week,  were  what  we  would  get,  and  all  we  would  get 
to  live  on. 

Are  we  to  have  no  tents,  no  blankets,  nothing  to  cook  in  ? 
No!  Will  we  not  be  given,  or  allowed  to  get,  forks  and  poles 
and  brush  with  which  to  make  a  shelter  that  will  protect  us 
from  the  scorching  sun  and  the  pitiless  rain?  No!  You  have 
your  ground,  you  will  get  your  rations,  nothing  more.  Is  it 
surprising  that  we  could  hardly  believe  our  ears,  that  stout 
hearts  quailed,  and  strong  men  lost  their  courage  and  lay 
down,  broken  in  spirit? 

Andersonville  is  situated  in  the  sparsely  settled  piney 
woods  of  southern  Georgia.  It  is  a  rolling  country  abounding 
in  creeks  and  swamps.  Pine  trees  cover  the  high  land,  and 
along  the  streams  and  swamps  there  are  gum  and  other  trees 
that  flourish  in  wet  soil,  and  thick  underbrush. 

The  prison  was  made  by  enclosing  sixteen  acres  of  this 
land  by  a  stockade.  The  stockade  was  made  of  logs  twenty- 
five  feet  long,  uniform  in  size,  hewed  on  two  sides,  set  upright 
and  close  together  in  a  ditch  five  feet  deep.  The  dirt  being 
filled  in  and  tamped  around  the  bottom,  these  logs  form  a  solid 
wooden  wall  twenty-five  feet  above  the  ground.  On  the  out- 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  93 

side  of  this  wall,  at  regular  intervals  of  about  sixty  yards,  scaf- 
folds were  built  with  steps  leading  up  to  them,  and  on  these 
scaffolds,  which  were  three  feet  lower  than  the  top  of  the 
wall,  the  guards  stood. 

On  the  inside  of  this  wall  and  twenty-five  feet  from  it, 
is  the  dead-line.  This  is  a  row  of  posts  driven  into  the  ground 
with  poles  or  narrow  boards  nailed  on  top  so  as  to  form  a  rail- 
ing three  feet  high  all  around  the  inside  of  the  stockade. 

This  sixteen-acre  pen  or  field,  was  a  rectangle  in  form, 
the  east  and  west  sides  longer  than  the  north  and  south.  A 
small  stream  ran  through  from  west  to  east  dividing  the  inte- 
rior into  what  was  called  north  and  south  sides.  This  stream 
furnished  the  water  supply  and  the  sewerage.  The  sink  was 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  stream.  Forks  driven  into  the  ground 
supported  poles  upon  which  the  prisoners  sat,  their  droppings 
falling  into  the  stream.  Above  the  sink,  the  stream  was  used 
for  washing  and  bathing.  Water  for  cooking  and  drinking 
was  obtained  between  the  little  bridge  that  crosses  the  stream 
and  the  dead-line  on  the  west  side.  The  ground  on  each  side 
of  this  stream  is  a  gently  sloping  hillside.  Adjoining  the  creek 
on  the  north  side,  there  is  about  two  acres  of  wet,  boggy, 
miry,  swamp. 

The  entrances  to  the  prison,  two  huge  gates,  are  on  the 
west  side.  One  on  each  side  of  the  creek  and  midway  be- 
tween creek  and  corner  of  stockade.  There  is  a  small  stockade 
yard  around  each  gate  on  the  outside.  When  prisoners  are 
brought  in,  or  the  wagons  loaded  with  rations,  they  pass 
through  an  outer  gate  into  this  yard,  the  outer  gate  is  then 
barred  before  the  gates  to  the  main  stockade  is  opened.  This 
to  prevent  prisoners  making  a  sudden  rush  for  an  open  gate. 
The  fastenings  to  these  gates  are  on  the  outside.  Leading 
(7) 


94 


THE  SMOKED  YANK. 


across  the  prison  from  each  gate  there  is  a  street  wide  enough 
to  turn  a  wagon  in.  There  are  two  or  three  other  streets  of 
considerable  width.  Leave  out  the  creek  and  the  two  acres 
of  swamp,  the  broader  streets  and  the  twenty-foot  strip  be- 
tween the  dead-line  and  the  stockade,  in  all  at  least  four  acres, 
and  you  have  left  twelve  acres  for  the  prisoners  to  camp  on, 
to  cook,  eat,  and  sleep  on.  There  were  20,000  prisoners  there 
when  we  entered.  Twenty  thousand  on  twelve  acres.  Six- 
teen hundred  and  sixty-six  on  one  acre.  Ten  to  each  square 
rod.  For  each  man  not  quite  four  by  seven  feet.  Before  that 
stockade  was  enlarged,  there  were  at  least  30,000  prisoners 
inside  of  it,  crowded  on  to  those  twelve  acres.  Less  than  three 
by  six  feet  for  each  man,  just  enough  for  all  to  lie  down  on  at 
once,  not  enough  to  have  buried  them  all,  giving  to  each  a 
separate  grave.  In  July,  the  stockade  was  enlarged.  About 
six  acres  more  of  ground  was  taken  in  on  the  north  side. 
Eight  acres  in  all,  about  six  available  for  use.  The  prisoners 
increased  until  there  were  45,000.  They  were  as  thick  then 
as  before.  The  following  table  copied  from  McElroy's  story 
of  Southern  Prisons,  is  a  part  of  the  report  made  by  Surgeon 
Joseph  Jones,  who  was  sent  by  the  Surgeon-General  of  the 
Confederate  army  to  examine  Andersonville : 


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THE  SMOKED  YANK.  95 

He  gives  the  number  of  acres  as  seventeen  at  first,  and 
twenty-seven  afterward.  He  makes  no  deductions  for  dead- 
line, streets,  or  swamp,  and  he  gives  what  he  calls  the  "  mean 
strength  of  prisoners."  The  size  of  the  pen  was  as  I  have 
stated,  also  the  number  of  prisoners  there.  There  could  be  no 
mistake  on  these  points  because  the  prison  was  measured  by 
different  men,  and  the  prisoners  were  counted  daily.  But  take 
the  rebel  figures  and  you  have  less  than  five  by  seven  feet  for 
each  man  in  June,  and  but  a  fraction  over  in  August. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  ANSWER  AT  ROLL  CALL,  DRAW  RATIONS,  AND  FIGHT  LICE  "- 
SCENES    AT    THE    DEAD-LINE. 

The  prisoners  who  were  first  turned  into  Andersonville  in 
February  1864,  were  from  Belle  Isle.  These  found  the  ground 
covered  with  underbrush,  stumps,  and  limbs  of  trees  that 
had  been  used  in  making  the  stockade,  and  trees  that  were  not 
large  enough  to  make  stockade  logs.  It  was  comparatively 
easy  for  these  men  to  provide  themselves  with  shelter.  Some 
built  huts  two  or  three  feet  high  on  the  sides  with  gable  roof; 
others  made  dug-outs,  by  digging  cellars  and  putting  roofs 
over.  The  roofs  were  all  made  of  brush  woven  together  with 
a  thatching  of  pine  leaves  on  the  outside.  Others  made  neat 
little  houses  by  bending  poles  so  that  both  ends  would  stick  in 
the  ground,  forming  a  frame  like  that  of  a  cover  to  an  emi- 
grant wagon.  These  frames  were  thatched  over  the  sides 
and  top  and  one  end.  Those  who  came  later,  when  wood  and 
brush  were  not  so  plentiful,  had  two  forks,  a  pole  and  blankets 
or  pieces  of  tent-cloth  stretched  over,  and  thousands,  who 
came  as  the  Cahaba  prisoners  did,  long  after  every  limb  and 
stump  and  pine  leaf  had  either  been  consumed  or  had  an  owner, 
had  no  shelter  whatever.  These  marked  out  their  six  by 
seven  feet,  for  two,  by  ditching  around  it  and  raising  the  sur- 
face so  that  the  wash  from  higher  ground  would  not  flow  over 
it;  and  there  most  of  them  died.  But  few  of  the  Cahaba  prison- 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  97 

ers  had  blankets,  fewer  had  anything  in  the  shape  of  cooking 
utensils.  Neither  my  bunk-mate,  Cook,  nor  myself  had  any- 
thing except  the  ragged  clothes  we  wore. 

On  the  first  morning,  it  was  the  second  day  of  May,  the 
sun  rose  scorching  hot.  I  went  to  the  tent  of  the  boy  who 
had  loaned  us  the  skillet,  and  asked  to  borrow  a  cup  so  that  I 
could  go  and  get  some  water.  I  said  to  him,  "  How  are  we  to 
live?  What  are  we  to  do,  who  have  no  shelter?"  "Live! 
Do!"  said  he,  "Why,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  answer  at  roll- 
call,  draw  your  rations,  and  fight  lice.  If  you  want  to  live, 
do  n't  go  near  the  dead-line."  I  soon  found  out  that  he  had 
summed  up  the  daily  life  of  the  average  prisoner  in  Ander- 
sonville. 

With  the  borrowed  cup  I  went  for  water.  We  had  been 
warned  to  keep  away  from  the  dead-line.  To  cross  it  —  even 
to  get  hand,  or  foot,  or  head,  a  hair's  breadth  over — was  in- 
stant death.  The  watchful  guards,  with  unerring  aim  sent  a 
bullet  through  every  prisoner  who  by  accident  or  otherwise 
trespassed  on  this  line.  They  gave  no  warning,  and  I  never 
knew  of  a  shot  being  fired  that  did  not  kill  a  man.  It  was 
said  that  a  thirty  days'  furlough  was  the  reward  for  killing  a 
prisoner  at  the  dead-line.  To  get  clean  water  for  drinking  or 
cooking,  it  was  necessary  to  go  near  the  dead-line  where  the 
stream  came  in.  Many  men  were  shot  for  merely  reaching 
under  the  dead-line  to  get  a  canteen  or  cup  of  clean  water. 
On  that  first  morning,  I  stood  within  a  few  feet  of  one  who 
was  filling  his  can  safely  inside  of  the  dead-line,  when  some 
others,  struggling  for  a  place  to  get  water,  accidently  pushed 
him  so  that  he  fell  with  his  head  under  the  pole.  That  instant 
his  brains  and  blood  went  floating  down  the  stream,  and  an- 
other rebel  guard  received  the  coveted  furlough. 


98  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

Another  time,  I  saw  some  starving  men  with  long  willow 
or  cane  poles,  standing  by  the  dead-line  trying  to  kill  for  food, 
swallows  that  had  built  their  mud  nests  in  the  cracks  of  the 
stockade,  and  in  the  twilight  were  skimming  back  and  forth 
as  swallows  will.  One  poor,  lean,  hungry  boy  knocked  a 
swallow  down  and  reached  a  fraction  too  far  in  his  effort  to 
secure  it.  His  spirit  went  home  to  Him  who  watches  the 
sparrows  when  they  fall,  and  another  son  of  chivalry  went 
home  on  a  furlough.  Such  scenes  were  common.  These 
shocked  me  more  than  others  because  I  stood  near  by. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

EXTRA  RATIONS FLANKING-OUT COOKED    RATIONS THE 

HUCKSTER'S  CRY,  AND  THE  PEDDLER'S  CALL — THE  PLY- 
MOUTH   PILGRIMS DEAD    YANKEES  BECOME  ARTICLES  OF 

MERCHANDISE 1  BUY  A  CORPSE  AND  TASTE    PURE  AIR  — 

REPEATING. 

For  thirty  successive  nights  after  we  entered  this  pen,  it 
rained  hard  every  night.  The  days  were  scorching  hot. 
The  rain  soaked  us  at  night.  The  sun  blistered  by  day.  The 
nights  were  cold — at  least  they  seemed  cold.  Food  is  the  fuel 
that  warms  the  body.  We  had  not  sufficient  food,  and,  there- 
fore, we  were  colder  at  night  than  well-fed  men  would  have 
been.  The  cold  made  us  hungry,  and  hunger  in  turn  made 
us  cold. 

Very  few  men  were  turned  into  Andersonville  who  lived 
very  long  without  in  some  way  securing  more  than  the  com- 
mon ration  to  eat.  For  the  first  two  or  three  weeks  I  lived, 
or  rather  slowly  starved  on  the  common  ration.  I  weighed 
about  160  pounds  when  I  entered  the  place.  A  few  weeks 
after,  my  thumb  and  finger  would  meet  around  the  largest 
part  of  my  arm  over  the  shirt  and  jacket  sleeves.  Every  day 
while  suffering  from  hunger,  I  would  resolve  and  re-resolve 
that  when  I  got  my  ration,  I  would  divide  it  into  three  parts, 
be  they  ever  so  small,  and  eat  at  morning,  noon,  and  night.  I 
never  could  do  it.  Every  time  the  ration  came,  I  devoured  it 
all,  and  all  was  not  enough. 


TOO  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

The  wood  that  was  issued  with  the  rations,  was  ob- 
tained by  letting  a  few  men  from  each  detachment  go  to  the 
woods  under  guard  and  bring  in  what  they  could  carry  on 
their  backs.  One  man  was  allowed  to  go  each  day  from  each 
division  of  ninety.  What  he  could  carry  in  was  divided  so 
much  to  each  mess  of  ten.  The  cooking  was  done  by  messes, 
and  the  food  when  cooked  was  carefully  divided  into  as  many 
little  piles  as  there  were  hungry  men  in  the  mess.  Then  one 
man  would  turn  his  back,  and  another  pointing  to  a  ration 
would  say,  "Who  shall  have  this?"  The  man  whose  back 
was  turned,  sometimes  he  was  blind-folded  also,  would  call  a 
name.  As  each  man's  name  was  called,  he  would  step  up 
and  take  his  share .  It  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  smallest 
pile  in  the  lot  fell  to  me. 

Going  out  after  wood  was  a  coveted  task.  Only  the 
strongest  were  chosen  to  go.  When  a  prisoner  could  man- 
age to  get  out  with  those  who  were  selected  to  carry  wood 
without  being  specially  detailed  from  any  division,  it  was  called 
"flanking  out." 

The  flanker  kept  for  himself  all  that  he  could  carry  in. 
Lynn  and  myself  soon  learned  the  flanking  game,  and  we  soon 
managed  to  get  enough  pine  boughs  and  limbs  of  trees  to 
build  quite  a  little  house.  Thomas  Davidson,  who  had  suc- 
ceeded in  eluding  all  searchers  and  carried  into  Andersonville 
$80  or  $90  in  greenbacks,  joined  Lynn  and  myself  in  making 
our  shelter.  When  we  had  it  finished  and  nicely  thatched  all 
over  with  pine  boughs,  and  more  pine  boughs  to  sleep  on,  and 
a  wide  blanket  which  Davidson  bought,  to  sleep  under  at 
night,  we  were  living  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  as  compared  with 
those  who  were  compelled  to  lie  at  night  on  the  bare  ground 
in  the  pelting  rain,  shivering  and  aching  with  the  cold,  and  to 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  101 

endure  without  shade  or  shelter,  the  scorching  sun  at  noon- 
day. 

We  had  been  there  but  two  or  three  weeks  when,  instead 
of  raw  meal  and  meat,  our  rations  were  brought  in  cooked. 
Then  there  was  no  more  flanking  out,  because  there  was  no 
further  use,  that  is  no  absolute  necessity  for  wood.  Those 
who  were  brought  in  after  that  without  money  or  blankets, 
fared  even  worse  than  we,  for  there  was  no  way  for  them  to 
get  any  shelter.  Neither  must  it  be  understood  that  many 
of  the  Cahaba  prisoners  were  as  fortunate  as  myself  and  Cook. 

The  cooked  rations  were  worse  in  many  respects  than 
the  raw.  When  our  meal  and  meat,  or  sometimes  beans  and 
molasses,  or  rice  in  place  of  the  meat,  came  to  us  raw,  we 
could  cook  it  in  various  ways.  We  could  make  a  stew  with 
meal  dumplings,  or  a  soup  of  the  beans.  Or  we  could  make 
bread  or  cakes  of  the  meal,  as  we  saw  fit.  Out  of  so  little 
variety  in  food,  skillful  cooking  could  make  many  different 
dishes.  When  the  cooked  rations  came,  they  were  always 
the  same.  The  meal  was  cooked  in  large  pans  for  bread,  or 
boiled  into  mush,  and  the  meat  always  boiled.  At  the  cook- 
house, usually  strong  bacon,  sometimes  beef,  was  put  into 
great  cauldrons  and  boiled.  No  pains  were  taken  to  clean  it; 
then  to  save  salt,  the  filthy  slop  from  which  the  meat  was 
taken,  was  used  in  mixing  the  meal.  The  meal  was  coarse 
and  not  sifted.  When  this  cooking  was  done,  the  great,  square 
loaves  of  corn-bread  (they  were  about  two  by  four  feet,  and 
four  inches  thick)  were  piled  on  wagons,  the  meat  piled  on 
the  bread,  and  hauled  into  the  prison.  The  beef  brought  in 
was  always  more  or  less  tainted.  The  bacon  was  always 
strong.  When  mush  was  made  and  brought  in  in  barrels, 
it  was  often  sour.  The  result  of  eating  this  coarse  bread, 


102  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

bran  and  all,  and  the  greasy  meat,  was  first  to  bring  on 
diarrhoea.  Weakened  by  this,  the  stomach  soon  became 
nauseated  and  refused  the  food.  When  the  food  made  a 
man  sick,  and  being  sick,  he  could  not  eat  the  only  food  there 
was,  starvation  began. 

Thousands  taken  in  this  way,  lived  but  a  few  weeks. 
Those  who  recovered  from  the  diarrhoea  had  next  to  battle 
with  the  scurvy.  The  scurvy  could  neither  be  prevented  nor 
cured  without  vegetables,'  such  as  onions,  and  potatoes,  cab- 
bages, and  melons.  These,  however,  could  only  be  had  for 
money,  and  at  a  high  price.  And  in  this,  was  the  worst  part 
of  this  awful  life;  men  were  starving,  actually  dying  by  hun- 
dreds every  day  for  want  of  food,  and  all  day  long  resounded 
in  their  ears  the  cries  of  hucksters  vending  their  goods  from 
stands,  such  as  you  will  see  at  country  fairs. 

"  Walk  up,  gentlemen !  Walk  up,  and  get  your  nice, 
warm  dinner!  Roast  meat  and  potatoes,  wheat  bread  and 
pure  coffee !  Walk  up,  gentlemen !  Walk  up,  and  get  your 
nice,  warm  dinner!  Here's  your  cool  lemonade,  made  right 
here  in  the  shade,  and  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  scurvy! 
Right  this  way,  gentlemen,  for  your  hot  chicken  soup !  Bean 
soup !  Bean  soup !  Bean  soup,  only  five  cents  a  dish !  Bean 
soup !  Bean  soup !  Ham  and  eggs !  Ham  and  eggs !  Right 
this  way  for  your  ham  and  eggs  with  johnny-cake,  and 
huckleberry  pie  for  desert!  Right  this  way,  and  get  your 
choice  dinner  for  a  dollar!" 

The  larger  huckster  stands  were  located  on  the  three  or 
four  principal  streets  of  the  prison,  but  smaller  stands  and 
peddlers  could  be  seen  everywhere,  and  no  starving  prisoner, 
though  he  had  the  will  power  to  keep  his  eyes  from  feasting 
on  what  his  stomach  craved,  but  his  hands  dared  not  touch, 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  103 

could  keep  the  peddler's  cry  and  the  huckster's  call  from 
sounding  in  his  ears  all  day  long,  and  far  into  the  night. 

Why,  you  ask,  were  not  these  poor,  starving  prisoners, 
relieved  by  those  who  had  this  provision  to  sell?  Why  are 
there  out  of  prisons  everywhere,  and  especially  in  all  great 
cities,  the  poor,  the  hungry,  and  the  ragged,  the  sick,  the 
lame  and  the  blind,  who  are  passed  daily  without  relief,  and 
without  compassion  by  fellow-men  rolling  in  wealth  and  de- 
bauched by  luxury?  Andersonville  was  a  world  condensed 
with  the  forms  and  restraints  of  society  left  out. 

Let  a  ship  sink  in  sight  of  the  shore,  and  a  hundred  help- 
less men  who  cannot  swim  be  thrown  into  the  sea — ten  of 
them  seize  planks  that  will  keep  them  from  sinking.  Does 
any  man  give  his  plank  to  one  of  the  ninety  who  is  about  to 
go  down?  The  prisoner  turned  into  Andersonville  with 
nothing,  and  depending  wholly  on  his  keepers  for  support, 
was  as  helpless  and  almost  as  sure  to  perish  as  the  wrecked 
man  without  a  plank  in  the  sea.  A  blanket  to  cover  him,  a 
few  boughs,  out  of  which  to  form  a  shelter,  a  few  dollars  to 
dole  out  sparingly  for  daily  wants,  were  to  him  as  precious 
as  the  life-preserver  is  to  the  wrecked  mariner  at  sea. 

Friends  worked  together  and  helped  each  other.  Old 
comrades  formed  into  messes  and  in  a  measure,  made  com- 
mon store,  but  the  general  rule  was,  every  man  for  himself. 

There  were  men  there  well-dressed,  even  to  dandyism, 
who  sported  watch  and  chain,  had  rolls  of  money  and  spent 
dollars  at  a  meal.  These  could  have  given  but  did  not,  just 
as  millionaires  who  have  more  than  they  can  ever  possibly 
consume,  think  only  of  gain,  and  seldom  give  and  grudging- 
ly, to  the  struggling  poor.  Begging  was  almost  as  rare  as 
giving.  The  poor  fellows  seemed  to  realize  that  as  a  rule, 


io4  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

to  part  with  even  a  morsel  of  food  was  to  lessen  their  chances 
for  life.  Tobacco  was  not  considered  one  of  the  necessaries, 
and  to  ask  a  chew  or  pipe  of  tobacco  was  not  considered 
begging,  and  when  asked  was  seldom  refused  by  those  who 
had  it  in  sight. 

Probably  half  the  prisoners  had  resources  other  than  the 
daily  ration.  There  were  hucksters,  and  peddlers,  bakers, 
tailors,  even  jewelers,  gamblers  of  every  kind,  chuck-luck, 
faro,  poker,  wheel  of  fortune,  tricks  and  games  of  every 
variety  were  played  and  carried  on  openly  and  publicly.  The 
rattle  of  dice,  the  whirring  of  wheels,  and  the  cries  to  attract 
the  crowd,  chimed  in  with  the  huckster's  call  and  peddler's 
cry  to  make  the  din  and  racket  of  the  streets.  All  of  these 
men  thus  engaged  had  something  besides  the  daily  ration. 

During  the  first  few  weeks,  these  things  were  not  so 
extensively  carried  on.  The  prisoners  who  first  entered 
Andersonville  were  from  Belle  Island  and  other  prisons,  and 
were  poor,  but  from  the  time  I  got  there,  there  were  almost 
daily  accessions  of  prisoners,  fresh  from  the  battle  fields 
around  Richmond,  and  from  the  armies  of  the  west.  These, 
especially  those  from  around  Richmond,  were  not  searched 
and  robbed  as  we  had  been,  and  as  most  prisoners  taken  from 
the  west  were.  They  came  in,  as  we  used  to  say,  with  flying 
colors,  bringing  blankets,  knapsacks,  canteens,  and  cooking 
utensils,  money  and  jewelry. 

A  brigade,  several  regiments  and  a  battery,  in  all  about 
3,000  men,  taken  at  Plymouth,  N.  C.,  had  received  their  vet- 
eran bounty  and  new  clothes,  with  which  to  go  home  on  vet- 
eran furlough,  but  a  few  days  before  their  capture.  They 
were  taken  on  conditional  surrender,  and  one  of  the  conditions 
was,  that  private  property  was  to  be  respected.  They  came 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  105 

in  about  the  middle  of  May,  with  their  entire  camp  outfit,  tents 
and  all,  and  must  have  had  an  average  of  hundreds  of  dollars 
in  money  to  the  man.  Previous  to  their  arrival,  hucksters 
handled  but  small  stocks  of  tobacco,  meal,  beans,  rice,  potatoes, 
wood,  etc.,  and  the  peddler's  cry  usually  was,  "  Who  wants  to 
trade  rice  for  beans!"  or,  "a  pone  of  bread  for  a  dish  of 
soup!"  or,  "a  ration  of  meat  for  a  ration  of  meal!"  and  the 
gambling  was  all  on  a  small  scale.  Soon  after  the  arrival  of 
the  Plymouth  prisoners,  bedlam  was  indeed  let  loose.  Ped- 
dlers and  hucksters  multiplied,  gamblers  and  tricksters  in- 
creased, and  new  kinds  of  business  sprung  up. 

The  hucksters  obtained  supplies,  in  part  from  the  prison 
suttler,  who  had  a  store  in  the  prison  under  the  protection  of 
the  rebels  in  command,  and  in  part  from  those  of  the  prison- 
ers who  went  outside  to  carry  out  the  sick  to  the  hospital,  or 
the  dead  to  the  dead-house,  and  who  managed  to  carry  on 
trade  with  the  rebels  on  the  outside,  and  smuggle  in  goods. 
The  officers,  too,  who  came  in  once  a  day,  one  or  two  to 
each  division,  to  call  the  roll  of  the  prisoners,  were  nearly 
all  smugglers,  and  brought  in  tobacco,  eggs,  and  other  articles 
that  they  could  conceal  about  their  person,  to  trade  and  sell  to 
the  prisoners. 

The  profits  in  smuggled  goods  was  so  much  greater  than 
on  those  bought  at  wholesale  from  the  prison  suttler,  that  a 
separate  branch  of  trade  sprung  up,  which  was  selling  chances 
to  go  outside.  For  instance,  a  sick  man  would  go,  or  get  his 
friends  to  carry  him  out  to  sick-call.  If,  on  being  examined 
by  the  rebel  physician,  he  was  ticketed  for  the  hospital,  and,  if 
he  could  not  walk,  as  was  usually  the  case,  there  would  be  a 
chance  for  two  other  prisoners  to  go  under  guard  and  carry 
the  sick  man  on  a  stretcher  to  the  hospital,  This  chance  to  go 


106  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

out  belonged  to  the  companions  who  had  assisted  him  to  sick- 
call.  They  would  often  sell  it  to  others  engaged  in  the  smug- 
gling business,  and  the  smuggler  buying  such  a  chance,  would 
often  realize  a  handsome  profit  on  goods  that  he  could  buy  on 
the  outside  of  the  guards  and  other  traders,  and  bring  in  con- 
cealed in  his  clothes,  or  in  the  pine  boughs,  or  a  hollow  log, 
which  he  would  be  allowed  to  carry  in. 

In  this  way,  the  dead  soon  became  articles  of  merchan- 
dise, and  were  bought  and  sold.  The  number  that  died  in 
camp  daily,  especially  in  July  and  August,  was  from  50  to 
1 20,  according  to  the  state  of  the  weather.  After  a  stormy 
day  and  night,  there  would  be  many  more  dead  than  during 
the  same  number  of  hours  of  fair  weather.  The  dead  were 
carried  to  the  gate  every  morning,  and  laid  in  a  line  commenc- 
ing at  the  dead-line  and  reaching  back  into  the  prison.  Each 
corpse  was  carried  to  the  dead-house  on  a  stretcher  by  two 
prisoners  guarded  by  a  rebel  soldier.  The  corpse  of  a  pris- 
oner belonged  to  his  bed-f ello  w,  if  he  had  one,  if  not,  to  his 
mess-mates,  who  had  the  disposal  of  the  chances  (two  of  them) 
to  go  with  the  stretcher  to  the  dead-house.  Smugglers  bought 
these  chances,  also. 

The  first  man  brought  to  the  dead-line  in  the  morning, 
would  be  taken  out  first,  and  they  would  be  taken  two  or  three 
at  a  time,  according  to  the  number  of  guards  detailed.  The 
first  smugglers  out  in  the  morning  would  have  the  best  chance 
to  trade,  and  so  the  chance  to  carry  out  the  first  corpse  was 
worth  more,  and  sold  for  more,  than  the  chance  to  go  out  with 
one  that  would  not  be  reached  until  later.  It  soon  became  the 
custom  for  the  price  of  a  corpse  to  be  written  on  a  piece  of 
paper  and  pinned  to  the  rags  of  the  corpse.  The  first  dozen 
or  so,  would  be  marked  as  high,  sometimes,  as  three  dollars 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  107 

each,  and  if  there  were  eighty  or  a  hundred,  in  the  row  of 
corpses,  as  low  as  fifty  cents  would  buy  some  of  the  last.  If 
you  paid  three  dollars  for  a  corpse,  you  would  get  out  early 
while  trade  was  brisk,  and  before  the  best  bargains  were  gone. 
If  you  paid  fifty  cents  for  a  corpse,  you  had  to  sit  by  it  per- 
haps until  afternoon,  and  watch  it  to  keep  it  from  being  stolen, 
and  when  it  did  come  your  turn  to  go,  the  stench  of  your 
corpse  would  make  you  sick,  and  chances  for  trade  would  be 
slim. 

I  saw  many  fights  over  the  disputed  ownership  of  dead 
bodies.  I  remember  one  in  particular.  A  poor,  starved  crea- 
ture who  seemed  to  have  no  friend,  had  for  a  long  time  been 
in  the  habit  of  coming  at  night  and  lying  down  just  outside  of 
my  shanty,  close  up  to  the  side  where  I  slept.  When  he  thus 
lay  down,  there  would  be  nothing  between  us  but  a  thin 
thatching  of  pine  leaves.  He  was  literally  alive  with  vermin, 
and  would  no  sooner  lay  down  than  I  would  be  awakened  by 
the  lice  crawling  over  my  face,  and  would  get  up  and  drag 
the  poor  fellow  away,  sometimes  twice  in  one  night.  One 
morning  after  I  had  thus  dragged  him  away,  I  saw  a  bloody 
fight  going  on  between  two  men,  and  going  to  the  spot,  found 
that  they  were  fighting  because  each  claimed  to  be  the  next 
friend,  and,  therefore,  the  owner  of  the  body  of  the  man  who 
had  died  where  I  had  left  him.  I  often  heard  it  said  that 
death  was  sometimes  assisted  by  the  would-be  mourners,  that 
the  corpse  might  reach  the  dead-line  among  the  first  in  the 
morning. 

Great  God !  Think  of  it.  Men  brought  so  low  by  the 
thousand,  systematically  and  purposely  too,  and  by  their  own 
countrymen,  civilized,  christianized,  chivalrous  countrymen, 
that  to  save  life,  to  get  food  and  wood,  where  food  and  wood 


io8  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

were  plenty,  they  will  barter  and  sell,  and  fight  over  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  friends.  What  are  Heathen? 

I  bought  a  chance  once  to  go  out  with  a  dead  body.  I 
had  to  carry  the  end  of  a  stretcher  on  which  the  head  lay, 
because  the  man  at  the  other  end  had  been  hungry  so  much 
that  he  was  thin  and  weak.  The  stretcher  was  an  old  gunny- 
sack  nailed  to  poles.  The  sack  part  was  too  short.  The 
feet  hung  over  it  at  one  end  and  the  head  at  mine.  There 
had  been  no  tender,  loving  hand,  to  close  those  eyes  when  the 
last  breath  had  gone.  They  were  open  wide  and  glaring. 
The  head  hung  over  the  end  of  the  stretcher  and  the  eyes 
glared  up  at  me.  They  haunted  me  for  weeks.  I  never 
bought  another  corpse. 

Aside  from  the  sickening  stench  of  that  corpse,  and  the 
ghostly  glaring  of  those  open  eyes,  how  unspeakably  delight- 
ful were  the  moments  I  spent  that  morning  out  of  the  prison. 
You  enter  a  conservatory  or  garden  full  of  freshly  blossomed 
flowers,  and  the  odors  are  delicious,  but  you  cannot  discern 
the  perfume  of  the  green  grass,  and  common  plants,  and  trees 
of  the  hills  and  fields  around  you,  because  they  are  in  your 
daily  air.  Neither  can  you  detect  the  obnoxious  odors  of'  a 
room  which  you  entered  when  the  air  was  pure,  and  staid  in 
until  it  was  foul.  So  I  did  not  know  how  foul  the  stench  of 
the  prison  was  until  I  went  out  that  morning  and  tasted  fresh 
air.  The  bark  of  the  trees,  the  leaves,  the  grass,  the  decay- 
ing wood,  the  flowers,  each  had  a  distinct  and  easily-dis- 
tinguished odor.  The  common  air  was  fragrant.  I  drank  in 
great  draughts  of  it  as  though  it  were  a  new,  delicious  and 
exhilarating  beverage,  and  so  it  was.  But  when  I  re-entered 
the  pen,  the  foulness  there  was  just  as  noticeable  as  the  fra- 
grance outside  had  been,  and  I  was  sorry  that  I  had  gone  at  all. 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  109 

Besides  the  traders  and  peddlers  who  earned  money  with 
which  to  buy  extra  rations,  and  those  who  brought  money  in, 
there  were  others  who  received  extra  rations.  For  instance, 
there  was  a  Yankee  sergeant  or  quartermaster  for  each  de- 
tachment who  received  the  provision  each  day  for  his  detach- 
ment and  divided  it  into  as  many  parts  as  there  were  divisions 
in  a  detachment.  He  received  three  extra  rations.  Then  the 
sergeant  of  each  division  who  received  from  the  detachment 
sergeant  and  distributed  to  the  sergeants  of  messes,  received 
two  extra  rations,  and  mess  sergeants,  some  of  them,  received 
one.  Whether  these  extra  rations  were  issued  in  addition  to 
the  rations  for  the  common  prisoners  or  whether  they  were 
taken  from  and  diminished  the  daily  supply  for  the  prison,  I 
cannot  say.  My  opinion  was  that  the  latter  was  the  fact. 

Others  received  extra  rations  by  repeating.  At  roll-call 
each  detachment  formed  in  line  and  a  rebel  sergeant  accom- 
panied usually  by  one  or  two  guards,  came  in  to  call  the  roll. 
They  called  the  roll  of  one  division  of  ninety  at  a  time,  and 
then  counted  the  men  in  line  to  see  that  the  number  tallied 
with  the  roll;  then  passed  to  the  next  division,  the  whole  de- 
tachment being  required  to  stand  in  line  until  the  roll  of  all 
the  divisions  was  called.  Suppose  a  man  from  the  ist  Division 
died  during  the  night,  some  man  from  some  other  division 
of  the  detachment,  would  slip  into  the  vacant  place,  stand  there 
and  answer  to  the  dead  man's  name,  and  as  soon  as  that 
division  was  counted,  slip  back  to  his  place  and  be  ready  to 
answer  to  his  own  name  in  his  own  division.  As  there  were 
as  many  rations  issued  each  day  as  there  were  prisoners  at 
roll-call  each  morning,  the  repeater  would  get  an  extra  ration. 

The  rebels  knew  that  something  of  the  kind  was  going 
on,  and  they  tried  many  schemes  to  prevent  it,  but  never 

(8) 


no  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

wholly  succeeded.  Probably  one-half  of  the  prisoners  at 
Anderson ville,  especially  between  June  ist  and  September  ist, 
of  1864,  in  one  way  or  another  of  the  several  ways  mentioned, 
secured  more  to  eat  than  was  provided  for  and  issued  to  them 
by  the  authorities.  Of  this  half,  a  large  percentage  lived,  for 
Andersonville  was  naturally  a  healthy  place.  Of  the  other  one- 
half  who  had  no  extra  rations,  no  aid  of  any  kind,  and  many 
no  shelter,  nearly  the  whole  died. 

I  have  never  met  a  survivor  of  Andersonville,  whose 
daily  ration  of  food  during  the  whole,  or  at  least,  the  most  of 
the  time  he  was  there,  was  not  in  some  way  supplemented,  and 
I  very  much  doubt  whether  there  is  now  a  man  living  who 
endured  five  months  of  1864  in  Andersonville,  with  nothing  to 
live  on  save  what  the  rebels  furnished. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  RAIDERS  —  LIMBER  JIM THE  REGULATORS EXECUTION 

OF   THE    RAIDERS. 

The  horrors  of  Andersonville  did  not  result  entirely  from 
the  prison  system  and  management  planned  and  authorized  by 
the  rebel  authorities  and  their  agents.  It  is  even  doubtful 
which  furnished  the  most  extreme  cases  of  human  cruelty  and 
depravity,  the  rebels,  or  the  prisoners  themselves.  When  we 
first  entered  the  place,  we  were  cautioned  to  look  out  for  raid- 
ers. These  were  at  first  a  small  band  of  roughs  from  New 
York  City,  who  had  been  engaged  previous  to  their  capture, 
in  what  was  called  bounty  jumping.  They  were  called, 
"bounty  jumpers."  Large  bounties,  or  sums  of  money  were 
offered  by  the  state  to  those  who  would  enlist,  and  sometimes, 
a  man  who  was  drafted,  would  pay  a  large  sum  to  some  other 
man  to  go  as  his  substitute.  These  fellows,  it  was  said,  had 
been  engaged  in  enlisting  for  these  state  and  private  bounties, 
remaining  in  the  service  long  enough  to  get  the  money,  and 
then  taking  the  first  opportunity  to  desert  and  go  back  and 
enlist  again  in  some  other  place,  under  another  name,  and 
secure  another  bounty.  They  were  confined  at  first  at  Belle 
Island,  and  there  banded  together  to  steal  and  rob,  and  there 
received  the  name  of  raiders.  As  the  number  of  prisoners 
who  had  anything  for  robbers  to  take,  increased,  the  raiders 
also  grew  in  numbers  and  boldness.  The  accessions  to  the 


ii2  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

gang,  were  probably  not  all  bounty  jumpers.  At  first,  their 
operations  were  after  the  sneak-thief  order.  A  haversack,  or 
a  blanket,  or  clothing  would  be  snatched  at  night  from  some 
sleeping  prisoners.  The  thief  would  run  and  soon  be  out  of 
sight  among  the  huts  and  tents,  and  pals  of  the  raiders  would 
put  any  pursuer  off  the  track.  Becoming  bolder,  they  began 
to  work  in  parties  of  five  or  six  armed  with  clubs,  and  they 
would  enter  at  night  the  sleeping  place  or  tent  of  the  victims 
marked  in  the  daytime,  and  forcibly  take  whatever  suited  their 
fancy,  mercilessly  clubbing,  sometimes  killing  any  unfortunate 
man  who  dared  resist.  And  so  the}'  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
The  Ninetys'  organized  to  defend  each  other  against  the  raid- 
ers, and  then  the  raiders  banded  together  and  strengthened 
their  forces.  If  a  party  of  raiders,  or  an  individual  raider 
made  an  attempt  to  rob  that  led  to  the  alarm  of  a  Ninety,  and 
could  not  escape  with  the  plunder,  a  shrill  blast  from  the 
whistle  which  each  carried  would  bring  others  to  the  rescue ;  a 
bloody  fight  with  knives  and  clubs  would  ensue,  and  almost 
always  the  raiders  would  be  victorious,  for  they  were  a  well- 
fed  band  of  strong,  desperate  men,  practiced  and  skilled  in 
such  warfare,  and  were  under  leaders  whom  they  obeyed. 
A  few  such  men  attacking  suddenly  in  the  night  could  usually 
get  away  with  their  plunder  before  the  surprised  friends  of 
the  parties  being  robbed  could  gather  in  sufficient  numbers  to 
successfully  resist. 

After  the  Plymouth  prisoners  came  in,  and  money  became 
plenty,  the  raiders  became  high-toned  and  did  not  stop  to  med- 
dle with  anything  of  less  value  than  watches,  jewelry,  and 
money.  They  carried  things  with  a  high  hand;  the  men  en- 
gaged in  trade,  and  others  known  to  have  money,  were  their 
chosen  victims.  The  leaders  even  grew  so  bold  as  to  go 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  113 

around  in  broad  daylight  and  demand  of  the  leading  hucksters 
money,  in  return  for  which  they  would  grant  the  hucksters 
exemption  from  a  raid  for  so  long  a  time.  Those  who  would 
not  pay  were  spotted,  as  it  was  called,  and  soon  paid  a  visit 
that  left  them  penniless,  and  served  as  an  example  to  terrify 
the  rest. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  murders  were  being  com- 
mitted. Men  who  had  money  or  other  valuables,  would  dis- 
appear, and  their  friends  having  no  reason  to  believe  they  had 
made  their  escape,  could  find  no  trace  of  them.  Suspicion 
pointed  to  the  raiders,  but  there  was  no  proof.  Finally  the 
raids  became  so  common,  the  levying  of  blackmail  so  frequent 
and  notorious,  and  so  many  men  were  missed  whom  it  was 
supposed  were  murdered,  that  the  whole  prison  began  to  be 
aroused,  and  the  question  of  a  general  organization  to  estab- 
lish rules  and  put  down  the  raiders,  was  frequently  discussed. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  one  who  dared  to  lead  off  in  such  a 
movement.  The  belief  was  universal  that  any  man  who  dared 
to  take  the  initiative,  would  be  spotted  and  surely  murdered 
by  the  raiders.  Finally  the  raiders  themselves  aroused  the 
very  man  who,  of  all  others  there,  was  best  calculated  to  lead  in 
breaking  their  power.  This  man  was  known  as  "Limber 
Jim." 

Limber  Jim  was  one  of  the  Cahaba  prisoners.  He  was 
a  tall,  slim,  wiry  man,  good  looking,  good  hearted,  full  of 
energy,  a  lover  of  fun,  and  was  at  Cahaba,  as  at  Anderson- 
ville,  the  best  known  and  most  popular  man  in  the  prison. 
He  had,  it  was  said,  traveled  with  a  circus  before  the  war, 
and  it  is  very  likely  that  as  clown  or  actor  in  a  circus  he  ac- 
quired not  only  his  nickname,  Limber  Jim,  but  also  the 
inexhaustible  fund  of  anecdote  and  glibness  of  tongue  that 


ii4  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

enabled  him  to  be  so  entertaining  and  rendered  him  so  well 
known  and  so  popular.  Soon  after  we  entered  Anderson- 
ville  "Limber,"  as  we  called  him  for  short,  invented  "root 
beer."  He  obtained  in  some  way  a  large  barrel,  filled  it  with 
water,  sorghum,  molasses,  and  corn  meal.  This  mixture  soon 
worked  and  acquired  a  sourish,  sharp  taste,  similar  to,  but  not 
nearly  so  pleasant  as  the  taste  of  old-fashioned  metheglin, 
made  of  honey  and  water. 

The  sassafras  tree  abounds  in  that  portion  of  Georgia,  and 
Limber  had  obtained,  by  digging  them  from  the  ground  in 
the  prison,  a  lot  of  sassafras  roots.  These  he  boiled,  and 
with  the  tea,  flavored  his  beer  and  called  it  "root  beer." 
Mounted  on  his  beer  barrel,  or  on  a  box,  Limber  would  draw 
a  crowd  by  telling  jokes  or  stories,  or  by  singing  a  song,  and 
then  he  would  expatiate  on  the  health-giving,  disease-curing 
properties  of  his  "  root  beer."  It  was,  according  to  his  talk, 
a  panacea  for  all  the  ills  that  prison  life  was  heir  to.  It  was 
good  for  scurvy,  and  that  was  the  disease  that  scourged  us 
most.  When  the  Plymouth  men  came  in  Limber  got  rich. 
He  sold  hundreds  of  barrels  of  beer  at  5  cents  a  glass  that 
cost  less  than  that  many  cents  per  gallon.  Then  he  went 
into  trade  generally,  and  besides  beer  kept  everything 
to  sell  that  could  be  obtained.  I  have  heard  that  he  won 
money  at  poker,  and  ran  a  faro  bank  with  great  success.  I 
did  not  see  him  do  either.  I  do  know  that  he  acquired  a 
large  amount  of  money — several  thousand  dollars.  He 
secured  for  his  mess  a  large  tent  that  would  hold  twelve  or 
fifteen  men,  pitched  it  on  the  South  side,  where  the  raiders 
were  mostly  congregated,  had  all  of  his  mess-mates  armed 
with  knives  and  clubs,  and  had  two  of  the  largest  and 
strongest  men  of  the  whole  prison  employed  to  stand  guard 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  115 

over  this  tent  at  night.  Here  Limber  and  his  guards  and 
friends  lived  like  kings. 

At  first  the  raiders  let  Limber  alone,  probably  because 
he  was  such  a  favorite  and  had  so  many  friends.  Afterward 
they  were  kept  off  by  his  giant  guards. 

One  evening,  however,  Limber  went  down  to  the  creek 
alone,  and  three  of  the  boldest  of  the  raiders  saw  him.  This 
was  the  opportunity  that  they  long  had  sought,  but  a  sad  day 
for  them  was  the  day  they  tackled  Limber  Jim.  One  big 
burly  Irishman  caught  him  from  behind,  put  an  arm  around 
his  neck,  under  his  chin,  drew  him  back  and  held  him  nearly 
choked,  while  the  others  searched  his  clothes. 

The  day  after  the  robbery  of  Limber  Jim  a  plan  for  an 
organization  was  agreed  upon  by  the  leading  men  throughout 
the  prison.  The  rebel  authorities  were  consulted  and  per- 
suaded to  co-operate.  A  thousand  picked  men,  called  regu- 
lators, were  got  together,  duly  officered,  armed  with  clubs 
and  drilled,  and  war  on  the  raiders  was  openly  and  formally 
declared.  A  police  justice  was  elected  and  police  headquar- 
ters established.  Notice  was  given  throughout  the  camp, 
inviting  every  prisoner  who  could  identify  and  furnish  proof 
against  a  raider  to  report  at  police  headquarters.  The  well- 
known  and  leading  raiders  were  at  once  arrested  by  the 
regulators,  Limber  Jim  acting  as  commander,  and  taken 
outside  and  there  held  in  irons  under  strong  guard.  When 
all  that  could  be  identified  were  thus  taken  out  a  jury  of  the 
sergeants  of  the  detachments  was  selected  to  hear  and  take 
testimony  against  them.  Six  of  them  were,  by  this  jury, 
indicted  for  murder  in  the  first  degree,  and  the  bodies  of  the 
murdered  victims  were  found  buried  deep  in  the  ground, 
under  the  tents  of  the  leading  raiders.  These  six  were  duly 


n6  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

tried  by  a  jury  empanneled  for  the  purpose.  They  were 
confronted  with  the  witnesses  against  them,  permitted  to 
bring  witnesses  in  their  defense,  and  allowed  the  benefit  of 
counsel.  In  fact,  they  were  granted  every  right  and  privilege 
guaranteed  to  a  citizen  of  the  United  States  by  the  constitu- 
tion. They  were  all  found  guilty  by  the  jury,  before  whom 
they  were  charged,  and  were  duly  sentenced  to  be  hung. 

For  all  the  rest  who  were  found  guilty  of  crimes  of  lesser 
degrees  than  murder,  for  robbery,  theft  and  the  like,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  better  method  of  punishment,  so  they 
were  sentenced  to  "run  the  gauntlet."  That  is,  all  the  pris- 
oners who  had  been  robbed,  or  clubbed,  or  raided,  or  other- 
wise maltreated  by  the  raiders,  were  permitted  to  form  a  line 
on  each  side  of  the  street  leading  into  the  prison  from  the 
gate.  The  raiders  were  turned  into  the  prison,  one  at  a  time, 
and  to  pass  between  these  two  lines  of  men,  standing  there, 
waiting  for  revenge,  was  "  to  run  the  gauntlet." 

Had  the  use  of  clubs  been  allowed  no  raider  could  have 
gone  through  alive.  Blows  and  kicks  were  unmercifully 
administered,  and  many  barely  escaped  with  life.  As  a  rule, 
those  who  had  been  guilty  of  the  most  and  the  worst  crimes 
received  the  hardest  drubbing,  for,  first  one  and  then  another 
of  the  men  in  line  would  make  his  charge,  stating  what  the 
raider  had  done,  and  those  against  whom  the  most  charges 
were  made  fared  the  worst. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  execution  of  the  six  men 
convicted  of  murder,  a  regular  scaffold  was  erected  inside  the 
prison.  It  was  reported  that  the  raiders  had  re-organized, 
and  would  make  a  desperate  effort  to  rescue  their  leaders  and 
companions  at  the  scaffold,  when  they  were  brought  in  to 
be  hung.  Great  precautions  were  taken  to  prevent  the 
success  of  any  such  attempt,  should  it  be  made. 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  117 

The  hour  came.  The  thousand  regulators  were  formed 
in  a  hollow  square.  The  six  doomed  raiders,  hand-cuffed  and 
shackled,  were  marched  in  between  a  strong  guard  of  rebel 
soldiers.  They  were  conducted  into  the  space  left  near  the 
scaffold,  and  there  turned  over  to  the  hangmen,  Limber  Jim 
being  chief  hangman,  and  then  the  guards  went  out,  for  the 
rebel  authorities  had  decided  to  permit,  but  not  to  take  any 
part  in  the  execution  of  these  raiders.  The  convicts  were  all 
Catholics,  and  at  their  request  a  priest  was  there  to  administer 
the  sacrament,  and  perform  the  last  rites  of  their  religion. 

The  hand-cuffs  and  shackles  are  removed  and  the  six 
doomed  men  kneel  with  their  priest  to  pray.  All  is  still  as 
death,  for  death  is  hovering  over  the  scene.  Suddenly  one  of 
them  stands  on  his  feet,  and  giving  the  shrill,  rallying  cry  of 
the  raiders,  with  a  spring  like  that  of  a  tiger  on  its  prey,  he  leaps 
right  into  the  teeth  of  the  regulators,  seizes  a  club,  and  in  less 
time  than  I  can  tell  it,  clears  the  whole  solid  mass  of  regu- 
lators, and  leaps  and  bounds  away  through  the  camp. 

What  a  scene  !  The  whole  30,000  prisoners  are  looking 
on,  thousands  crowded  close  around  the  regulators,  and  when 
that  raider  breaks  away  every  looker-on  supposes  that  the 
dreaded  raiders  have  made  the  threatened  attempt  to  rescue,  and 
every  one  starts  at  once  to  get  away  from  the  desperate  struggle 
that  is  expected  to  follow.  The  result  is,  that  the  backward 
movement  takes  the  crowd  like  a  great  wave,  and  they  tumble 
over  tents,  into  holes,  off  from  buckets,  boxes,  and  whatever 
could  be  secured  to  stand  on,  tramping  on  each  other,  yelling, 
cursing,  and  fighting  as  they  go.  It  was  a  terrible  panic,  and 
many  were  sorely  bruised,  and  some  had  arms,  some  legs 
broken  in  their  falls. 

In  the    meantime    the  fleeing   raider  is  hotly  pursued. 


n8  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

He  dashes  into  tents,  and  out  by  lifting  up  the  edge,  dodges 
around  shanties,  and  tries  in  vain  to  elude  the  sleuth-hounds 
on  his  track.  He  is  caught!  A  mass  of  regulators  gather 
around  and  form  a  hollow  square,  in  the  center  of  which, 
struggling  still,  he  is  carried  back.  There  is  no  more  waiting 
for  religious  ceremony.  Again,  all  is  still.  The  raiders  beg 
and  plead  for  mercy.  Their  hands  are  pinioned  behind  them, 
the  black  cowls  drawn  over  their  heads,  and  they  are  led  each 
by  a  hangman  up  the  steps,  on  to  the  scaffold.  There,  stand- 
ing in  a  row,  the  loops  pass  over  their  heads,  the  hangman's 
knots  are  adjusted,  and  the  hangmen  step  down.  Limber 
Jim  seizes  an  ax,  drives  out  the  wedge  that  supports  the  drop, 
and  five  of  the  murderers  are  dangling  in  the  air. 

The  sixth,  the  same  big  burly  Irishman  that  mugged 
Limber  Jim,  proved  too  heavy  for  his  rope,  and  as  it  broke, 
he  fell  through  the  scaffold  to  the  ground,  stunned  and 
bruised,  but  not  killed.  Water  is  dashed  into  his  face  and  he 
revives  and  pleads  again  for  mercy.  "Surely,  yiz  have  not 
the  heart  to  hang  a  man  twice,"  he  is  heard  to  say. 

With  awful  coolness,  Limber  Jim  lifts  him  up,  assists  him 
back  up  the  steps  of  the  scaffold,  and  there,  standing  on  the 
outer  beam,  adjusts  the  noose  of  the  new  rope,  lifts  the  man 
up  off  his  feet  and  drops  him,  to  writhe,  and  struggle,  and 
twitch,  beside  his  writhing,  struggling,  twitching  companions, 
until  all  are  dead,  dead,  dead! 

The  raiders  raided  no  more.  From  this  time  on  there  was 
a  police  commisioner,  or  justice,  and  regularly  organized 
police,  and  all  prisoners  charged  with  stealing,  or  violating 
any  of  the  prison  rules  were,  if  convicted,  severely  punished. 
Sometimes  they  were  sentenced  to  do  fatigue  duty,  such  as 
cleaning  streets,  etc.,  but  the  usual  punishment  was  to  stretch 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  119 

the  offender  over  a  barrel,  and  whip  him  on  the  bare  back 
with  a  cat-o'-nine  tails,  the  number  of  lashes  given  him  being 
in  proportion  to  the  grade  of  the  crime.  A  sanitary  organiza- 
tion was  also  perfected  to  take  in  charge  the  general  condition 
of  the  prison,  see  to  the  cleaning  of  streets,  compel  the  deposit 
of  urine  and  excrement  at  the  sink,  and  enforce  personal 
cleanliness. 

The  prisoners  employed  on  the  police  and  sanitary  forces 
each  received  extra  rations;  subordinates  one,  officers  two,  or 
more,  according  to  the  grade  of  office.  Whether  these  extra 
rations  were  taken  out  of  the  daily  supply  for  the  prison,  thus  di- 
minishing the  quantity  issued  to  the  common  herd,  or  whether 
they  were  furnished  in  addition  to  the  daily  allowance  for  the 
camp,  I  cannot  now  say,  though  it  would  be  interesting  to 
know.  One  thing  is  certain.  The  fact  that  all  service  ren- 
dered was  paid  for  in  extra  rations  was  of  itself  proof  that  the 
common  ration  was  not  sufficient.  Otherwise,  who  would 
have  labored  for  an  extra  ration?  I  verily  believe  that  a  man 
of,  or  about  the  average  size,  and  of  ordinary  habit  as  to 
consumption  of  food,  could  not  have  lived  three  months  with 
nothing  to  eat  besides  the  common  ration. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ESCAPES BLOOD-HOUNDS TORTURES DIGGING   TUNNELS 

A    BENEDICT    ARNOLD SHOOTING  A  CRIPPLE THE    HOS- 
PITAL  SICK-CALL A   SMALL-POX    SCARE. 

Escape  was  almost  impossible.  A  few  succeeded  in  get- 
ing  away,  but  in  nearly  every  instance  they  were  brought 
back.  A  pack  of  blood-hounds  was  kept,  and  every  day,  or 
oftener,  a  squad  of  cavalry  accompanied  by  these  dogs,  would 
make  a  circle  around  the  prison  a  half  mile  or  more  away, 
and  the  hounds  were  so  trained  that  they  would  take  the  track 
and  go  in  pursuit  of  any  prisoner  who  had  succeeded  in  pass- 
ing the  circle.  Those  captured  were  often  terribly  bitten  and 
mangled  by  the  dogs,  and  were  subjected  to  tortures  upon  their 
return  —  such  as  hanging  by  the  thumbs,  sitting  in  the  stocks, 
and  working  on  the  chain-gang.  Hanging  by  the  thumbs, 
was  to  be  stretched  up  by  a  rope  fastened  around  each  thumb 
until  no  weight  remained  on  the  ground;  the  toes  being  allowed 
to  merely  touch  to  prevent  the  body  swinging  around,  which 
would  cause  sickness  and  vomiting.  The  cries  of  the  poor 
fellows  subjected  to  these  tortures,  were  pitiful.  They  prayed 
and  begged  to  be  shot.  Suppose  you  were  to  be  taken  to  a 
wooden  wall,  seated  on  the  ground,  your  feet  made  to  project 
through  two  holes  as  high  up  as  they  would  reach,  and  your 
hands  through  two  other  holes  higher  up,  and  your  feet  and 
hands  thus  placed  securely  fastened,  you  would  be  in  the  stocks. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  121 

In  the  chain  gang,  one  ankle  of  each  man  was  fastend  by 
an  iron  shackle  and  chained  to  an  immense  cannon  ball,  perhaps 
a  forty-pounder.  When  the  gang  moved  from  place  to  place 
to  and  from  their  work,  or  to  the  sink  as  often  as  any  member 
had  to  go,  each  member  had  to  drag  a  separate  ball  with  one 
leg,  and  help  to  drag  the  large  one  with  the  other.  Thus 
shackled,  they  ate,  slept,  and  worked.  Every  man  who  at- 
tempted to  escape  had  to  pass  in  turn  through  these  three 
forms  of  torture. 

I  tried  many  plans  for  escape.  In  fact,  there  was  not 
a  day  from  the  time  I  was  made  prisoner  that  I  was  not 
looking  for  a  chance  to  get  away,  or  working  out  some 
scheme.  I  helped  to  dig  one  tunnel.  We  begun  it  in  a 
hut  located  near  the  dead-line.  Carried  the  dirt  away  in  sacks 
at  night  and  put  it  in  the  creek.  The  man  who  worked  at 
the  end  of  the  tunnel  lay  on  his  belly  or  back  and  dug  into 
the  tough,  hard  red  clay  until  he  had  loosened  a  small  sack 
full.  He  would  then  pass  the  sack  to  a  man  behind  him  who 
would  pass  it  to  another,  and  so  on  back.  When  the  sack 
reached  the  top  of  the  ground,  men  lying  on  the  ground  for 
the  purpose,  shoved  it  from  one  to  another,  until  it  was  far 
enough  from  the  over-looking  guard  for  a  man  to  walk  away 
with  it  and  not  be  noticed.  Progress  was  slow  on  account  of 
the  extreme  hardness  of  the  clay,  but  we  toiled  on  night  after 
night  until  we  had  a  tunnel  far  outside  of  the  stockade.  We 
were  waiting  for  a  night  dark  enough  to  enable  us  to  make 
an  opening  on  the  outside  and  get  out  unseen,  when  our  tun- 
nel shared  the  fate  of  most  tunnels  that  were  tried.  Some  poor 
famishing  creature,  who  had  seen  us  at  work,  in  the  hope  of 
getting  an  extra  ration  as  a  reward,  betrayed  us,  and  in  came 
an  officer  and  took  out  all  that  were  found  in  the  tunnel,  or  in 


122  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

the  tent  from  which  it  started,  and  put  them  through  the 
tortures  prepared  for  those  who  attempted  to  escape.  Luck- 
ily, I  was  not  at  the  tunnel  at  the  time. 

Few  tunnels  were  successfully  completed,  because  it  was 
hardly  possible,  when  men  were  so  crowded  together,  to  carry 
them  on  without  many  not  engaged  in  the  work  finding  it  out, 
and  as  it  was  known  that  old  Wirz  would  reward  the  informer, 
there  was  always  some  poor  devil,  either  naturally  mean 
enough,  or  so  distracted  by  want  and  misery,  that  for  the  sake 
of  the  reward  he  would  prove  traitor  to  his  friends. 

One  night  there  was  a  tremendous  rain-storm,  and  the 
water  in  the  creek  rose  so  high  that  it  washed  out  several  feet 
of  stockade  at  the  lower  side.  Had  this  been  generally 
known  a  general  break  would  have  been  made,  but  only  a 
few  of  those  quartered  near  by  knew  of  it,  and  some  of  them 
escaped  by  swimming  out  in  the  flood.  The  rebels  soon 
discovered  the  break,  and  had  an  armed  force  around  the 
place  on  the  outside. 

This  incident  suggested  to  some  of  us  the  possibility 
of  making  an  organized  effort  to  liberate  the  entire  body 
of  prisoners.  As  before  stated,  the  stockade  was  made 
of  logs,  set  close  together,  the  lower  ends  about  five  feet 
in  the  ground.  Seeing  the  place  where  the  washout  occurred, 
suggested  the  idea  of  tunneling  to  the  stockade,  and 
then  excavating  the  dirt  from  the  inside,  down  to,  and  partly 
under  the  bottom  of  the  logs,  and  for  several  feet  along  the 
camp  side,  leaving  only  enough  of  the  top  earth  to  hold  itself 
up  and  conceal  the  work.  The  clay,  being  hard  and  tough 
nearly  to  the  surface,  made  this  possible.  We  planned  to 
remove  the  earth  in  this  way  from  at  least  twelve  or  fifteen 
feet  of  the  front  of  the  stockade,  and  we  had  long  poles 


THE  SMOKED   YANK.  123 

prepared,  intending,  when  all  was  ready,  to  put  the  poles 
against  the  top  of  stockade  logs,  and  push  them  over.  The 
dirt  all  being  removed  from  in  front  of  the  logs  at  the  bottom, 
this  was  a  perfectly  practical  scheme. 

While  the  excavating  was  going  on  we  organized  a  body 
of  picked  men;  had  officers  chosen  for  each  company  and 
regiment,  and  a  general,  and  aids.  In  short,  we  organized  a 
small  army  of  the  strongest  and  most  resolute  men.  Our 
intention  was  to  make  a  sudden  rally,  surprise  and  capture 
all  the  guards,  arm  a  party  of  men  with  the  captured  guns, 
and  let  them  make  a  forced  march  to  Americus,  only  twelve 
miles  away,  and  capture  the  arms  and  munitions  of  war  stored 
n  the  arsenal  there.  With  these  we  could  arm  and  equip 
every  able-bodied  man  in  the  prison.  We  had  planned  also 
to  cut  the  telegraph  wires,  and  to  take  prisoner  every  man, 
woman  and  child  in  the  neighborhood.  Also,  to  send  a  small 
body  of  men  out,  who  were  to  provide  themselves  with  horses 
and  arms  as  they  went,  and  force  their  way  to  Sherman's 
army  with  all  possible  speed.  These  men  were  to  go  in  a 
body,  if  possible,  and  if  not,  scatter,  and  each  man  go  it  alone. 
Some,  we  thought,  would  surely  get  through,  for  Sherman 
was  then  at  home  in  Georgia.  The  main  body  of  the 
prisoners,  with  the  arms  secured  at  Americus,  were  to  march 
on  to  Macon,  and  liberate  the  officers  who  were  in  prison 
there,  if  possible.  If  the  officers  were  liberated  further 
movements  were  to  be  guided  by  them.  If  they  were  moved 
before  our  forces  could  surround  the  place  there,  we  would 
take  the  town  and  fortify  ourselves  in  it,  and  hold  every 
inhabitant  of  the  place,  and  all  we  could  find  and  bring  in,  as 
hostages,  so  that  if  a  rebel  army,  large  enough  to  overpower 
us,  should  come,  we  would  hold  them  at  bay  until  succor 


124  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

from  Sherman  should  arrive,  by  putting  their  own  people  in 
front  of  us,  and  compelling  our  enemies  to  kill  their  own 
friends  or  let  us  alone. 

It  was  a  well-laid  scheme,  and  it  might  have  succeeded 
had  not  a  Benedict  Arnold  sprung  up  at  the  proper  time,  to 
betray  it  for  reward.  One  fine  morning  we  were  awakened  by 
the  sound  of  cannon,  and  the  whistling  of  grape  and  canister 
close^over  our  heads;  at  the  same  time  the  entire  force  of 
guards  were  seen  forming  on  commanding  portions  around 
the  prison.  Then  a  company  of  rebels  marched  in  and  went 
to  the  exact  spot  we  had  excavated,  destroyed  our  works,  and 
posted  notices,  stating  that  the  plot  in  all  its  details  was 
known,  and  that  the  first  sign  of  an  unusual  movement  of 
prisoners  would  be  the  signal  for  firing  the  cannon  that  were 
trained  on  the  camp  and  loaded  with  grape  and  cannister. 
At  the  same  time  the  rebels,  to  prevent  another  attempt  of 
the  same  kind,  fastened  timbers  across  the  logs  of  the  stock- 
ade, near  the  top,  and  put  strong  braces  against  the  timbers, 
so  that  the  whole  stockade  was  firmly  held  in  place,  and  could 
not  be  pushed  over  from  the  inside,  even  though  the  dirt  was 
removed  from  the  front. 

We  never  knew  to  a  certainty  who  the  traitor  was  that 
betrayed  this  scheme,  but  suspicion  fastened  on  a  man  who 
had  but  one  leg,  and  walked  with  crutches.  He  was  about 
that  time,  granted  a  parole  of  honor  and  permitted  to  pass  out 
and  into  the  prison  as  he  pleased.  One  day  he  came  inside 
and  a  lot  of  prisoners  gathered  around  him  and  charged  him 
with  having  been  the  traitor.  He  stoutly  denied  it,  but  the 
prisoners  continuing  to  abuse  and  threaten  him,  he  attempted 
to  go  outside.  There  was,  at  the  time,  no  officer  at  the  gate 
to  let  him  out,  and  he  stepped  into  the  space  between  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  125 

dead-line  and  the  gate,  saying  to  the  guard  above  the  gate, 
that  he  would  stand  there  until  an  officer  came.  The  guard 
told  him  to  go  back  inside  of  the  dead-line.  The  poor  crip- 
ple, standing  there  on  one  foot  and  one  crutch,  replied,  and 
correctly,  too :  "  You  know  I  have  a  parole  to  stay  outside 
when  I  choose,  and  there  can  be  no  harm  in  my  standing  here 
until  an  officer  comes  to  let  me  out;  besides  those  men  threat- 
en to  kill  me,  and  I  am  afraid  to  stay  inside  the  dead-line." 

The  guard  cocked  his  gun  and  ordered  him  to  move 
back  inside  the  stockade.  Looking  the  guard  full  in  the 
face,  the  man  replied :  "  I  do  n't  care  how  soon  I  die,  shoot, 
if  you  like ! "  The  words  were  hardly  spoken,  when  the 
guard  fired.  The  ball  passed  through  the  man's  mustache 
and  out  through  the  neck,  breaking  the  bone.  Poor  fellow, 
he  felt  no  pain,  and  another  rebel  soldier  was  furloughed  for 
honorable  conduct.  God  save  the  mark!  All  the  regulations 
and  commands  in  Christendom  could  not  compel  a  brave  and 
honorable  man  to  shoot  another,  a  poor  cripple,  under  such 
circumstances. 

There  was  a  hospital  at  Andersonville  to  which  sick  men 
were  admitted,  and  where  they  ought  to  have  received  at  least 
good  treatment  and  care,  for  the  hospital  stewards  were  paroled 
prisoners,  and  they  certainly  ought  to,  and  probably  did  do 
the  best  they  could  for  their  suffering  comrades.  But  the 
capacity  of  the  hospital  was  limited  and  only  those,  it  was  said, 
who  were  past  curing  were  taken  out.  In  fact,  so  few  of  those 
who  were  taken  there  ever  came  back,  that  it  came  to  be  the 
prevailing  idea  that  to  go  to  the  hospital  was  to  be  carried 
alive  to  your  grave,  and  but  few  sick  prisoners,  unless  taken 
by  force,  would  go  there.  There  was  a  sick-call  too  every 
morning  at  which  time  the  sick  could  go  into  a  smaller  pen 
(9) 


126  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

just  outside  the  south  gate  where  a  number  of  rebel  sur- 
geons prescribed  for  the  sick.  The  prevailing  complaints 
were  scurvy,  diarrhoea,  and  malarial  and  other  fevers.  A  little 
vinegar  and  sulphur  was  doled  out  to  the  scurvy  patients; 
what  the  rest  received,  I  do  not  know.  I  do  know  that 
I  had  the  scurvy  bad  and  that  the  stuff  I  got  at  sick-call 
did  me  no  good,  but  that  when  I  got  money  and  bought  and 
ate  a  few  raw  potatoes  and  some  other  wholesome  food,  I  was 
quickly  cured. 

There  was  at  one  time,  a  small-pox  scare.  Whether 
there  were  cases  in  the  prison,  I  do  not  now  remember.  At 
any  rate,  the  rebel  physicians  received  orders  to  vaccinate 
every  prisoner  who  could  not  show  a  fresh  scar.  We  were 
formed  in  line,  and  those  who  could  not  show  a  fresh  scar, 
were  vaccinated  whether  they  wanted  to  be  or  not.  I  had 
been  vaccinated  a  year  before  and  escaped.  Hundreds  died 
or  lost  their  arms  from  the  effect  of  the  vaccine.  Some  said  it 
was  poison,  or  diseased  matter  purposely  used.  I  do  not 
think  so,  but  I  do  think  that  many  of  the  prisoners  who  had 
the  scurvy  and  other  blood  disorders,  were  not  in  fit  condition 
to  be  vaccinated;  that  because  of  their  condition  the  sores 
made  became  inflamed,  gangrene  got  into  them  and  proved 
fatal.  I  don't  think  small-pox  could  have  made  any  head-way 
among  the  half-starved  prisoners;  they  were  too  lean. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CONDITION    OF     THE     PRISON     IN    JULY    AND     AUGUST REBEL 

STATISTICS WHY  WE    WERE  NOT   EXCHANGED ANDER- 

SONVILLE    REVENGED  —  THIS    IS   A   REPUBLIC! 

The  miseries  of  Andersonville  during  the  rainy  months  of 
May  and  June  for  those  who  had  little  or  no  shelter,  who, 
drenched  by  the  cold  pelting  rain  shivered  all  night,  and  had 
to  endure  the  blistering  intolerable  heat  of  a  tropical  sun  by 
day,  were  indescribable.  How  shall  I  convey  to  you  an  idea 
of  the  increased  suffering  in  July  and  August,  when  the  rains 
which  before  washed  the  camp  and  carried  off  the  filth,  ceased; 
when  there  were  more  men  to  the  square  rod,  when  the 
rations  were  poorer  in  kind,  and  less  in  quantity,  when  the 
creek  that  furnished  water  had  diminished  in  volume  and  had 
been  polluted  by  all  manner  of  filth  from  the  camps  of  the 
guards  and  the  prison  cook-houses  above ;  when  the  accomoda- 
tions  at  the  sink  were  not  sufficient  for  half  of  the  prisoners, 
and  more  than  all,  when  hunger,  and  exposure,  and  disease, 
and  scurvy,  and  gangrene,  and  vermin,  and  noxious  vapors, 
and  despondency  had  worked  together  for  months  and  left 
their  awful  marks  upon  so  many  thousands  of  helpless  men? 
The  mind  naturally  shrinks  from  the  appalling  task.  Abler 
pens  than  mine  have  been  engaged  upon  the  subject.  Books 
have  been  written,  and  many  letters  published  describing  the 
horrors  of  Andersonville,  and  yet  the  half  has  never,  and  can 


128 


THE  SMOKED  YANK. 


never  be  told.  I  can  add,  as  it  were,  but  a  mite,  and  all  I 
shall  seek  to  do,  will  be  to  leave  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  a 
picture  of  the  place  such  as  memory  brings  to  mine. 

I  give  below  a  table  copied  from  "McElroy's  Anderson- 
ville,"  compiled  from  the  official  reports  made  by  confederate 
authorities.  It  gives  the  average  number  of  prisoners  during 
the  months  of  July  and  August  at  a  little  less  than  32,000. 
My  own  recollection,  and  it  is  supported  by  that  of  many 
others,  is  that  there  were  between  35,000  and  40,000,  and  that 
the  death  rate  was  correspondingly  larger.  It  is  quite  likely 
that  we  were  prone  to  exaggerate — just  possible  that  a  rebel 
officer  would  under-rate. 

The    number  of  prisoners   in    the   Stockade,    the   number   of  deaths    each 
month,  and  the  daily  average,  is  given  as  follows : 


MONTHS. 

Number  in 
Stockade. 

Deaths. 

Daily 
Average 

March  

4..7O7. 

28*. 

April  

Q,  C77 

CQ2 

10 

May    

18  4X4. 

711 

27 

June  

26,^67 

I,2O2 

4.O 

*Tuly.. 

71,678 

1,74.2 

S6 

31,633 

3,076 

00 

September  

8,218 

2.7OO 

QO 

October  

4.,  2O8 

I.CQC 

iri 

November  

1,  7  en 

48  c 

10 

*  In  July  one  in  every  eighteen  died. 
In  August  one  in  every  eleven  died. 

The  greatest  number  of  deaths  is  reported  to  have  occurred  on  August  23, 
when  127  died,  or  one  man  every  eleven  minutes.  The  greatest  number  of 
prisoners  in  the  stockade  is  stated  to  have  been  August  8,  when  there  were 
33,i  14- 

What  were  all  these  men  doing?  Not  reading,  for  there 
was  no  Mrs.  Gardner  with  a  humane  heart  and  willing  hand 
in  that  vicinity.  There  were  no  books  there  except  a  few 
testaments  and  bibles.  In  my  opinion,  the  first  thing  that 
would  attract  the  notice  of  a  stranger,  was  the  thousands 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  il9 

of  men  sitting  in  the  sun,  nearly  naked,  picking  away  at 
their  clothes;  picking  off  the  lice.  The  place  was  literally 
alive  with  lice  and  fleas.  Every  man  who  did  not  get 
so  sick  and  weak  and  discouraged  that  he  had  to  lie  down  and 
be  eaten  up  by  them,  made  it  one  of  his  daily  tasks  to  take  off 
all  his  clothes  and  pick  off  the  lice  and  fleas.  To  do  this 
effectually,  you  must  hold  the  garment  in  the  warm  sun  so  that 
the  vermin  would  crawl  out  and  be  seen.  So  through  all  the 
hottest  part  of  the  day,  there  were  thousands  and  thousands 
of  men  sitting  on  the  ground  wholly  or  partially  naked  pick- 
ing vermin  from  their  old  rags  or  clothes,  if  they  still  had 
them;  thousands  were  nearly  naked  when  they  had  all  their 
clothes  on,  these  were  all  more  or  less  afflicted  with  the 
scurvy. 

Scurvy  swells  the  gums,  and  in  time,  rots  them  so  that 
the  teeth  fall  out;  the  feet  swell  and  puff  up,  especially  if  the 
man  is  bare-footed,  until  they  are  two  great  puff-balls,  resem- 
bling a  pair  of  boxing  gloves.  Grasp  one  of  these  puffed  feet 
with  your  hand,  and  your  fingers  will  make  dents  in  the  flesh 
that  will  but  slowly  fill  out,  as  in  a  piece  of  rising  dough.  The 
knee  joints,  too,  are  favorite  points  for  scurvy.  They  were 
always  swollen,  like  the  feet,  but  black  and  blue,  as  though 
they  had  been  pounded  into  one  horrible  bruise. 

Now,  picture  one  of  these  half-naked,  bony,  filthy,  gaunt 
and  ghastly  skeletons,  his  eyes  sunken,  his  cheek  bones 
protruding,  his  gums  all  swollen,  his  elbows  and  knees 
swollen,  and  black  and  blue,  and  his  feet  two  great  shapeless 
masses  of  bloated  flesh,  and  picture  him  sitting  on  the  ground, 
as  he  usually  was,  with  his  chin  between  his  knees,  and  his 
hands  clasped  around  them,  and  you  have  a  specimen  of 
"Smoked  Yank,"  thousands  of  whom  could  always  be  seen 
at  a  glance. 


130  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I  have  mentioned  the  swamp.  I  shrink  from  the  task, 
but  I  must  take  you  there.  The  privy,  or  sink,  as  it  was 
called  for  the  prison,  was  as  before  stated,  two  lines  of  poles 
supported  by  forks,  one  line  on  each  side  of  the  creek.  As 
the  prison  filled  up,  and  the  accommodations  at  the  sink 
became  insufficient,  the  swampy  ground  had  to  be  used,  until, 
finally,  that  whole  piece  of  swamp  ground  was  covered  with 
one  connected  mass  of  human  excrement.  A  moving,  seeth- 
ing mass,  for  vermin,  worms,  and  bugs,  kept  it  moving. 
Now,  take  the  specimen  of  "Smoked  Yank,"  as  I  have 
described  him.  Let  him  drag  his  swollen  feet  along  one  of 
the  paths  left  to  walk  in,  through  that  seething,  squirming 
mass,  and  then,  when  he  finds  a  place  to  stoop,  his  swollen 
knees  refuse  support,  he  falls  over;  is  too  weak  to  get  up  or 
crawl  out,  and  there  he  dies.  Yes,  such  scenes  were  there, 
and  too  common.  There  were  hundreds  of  such  cases. 
Would  no  one  help  him,  you  say.  Certainly,  if  asked,  or  if 
the  dying  man  was  noticed.  But  when  men  became  so  weak 
and  low,  they  were  liable  to  fall  over  in  a  swoon,  and  not  be 
noticed,  especially  at  night.  I  have  helped  carry  men  out, 
who  had  fallen  over  in  that  way,  and  did  not  call  for  help. 
They  seemed  to  think  their  strength  would  return,  and  enable 
them  to  get  up. 

I  remember  having  my  attention  called  one  day  by  most 
terrible  oaths,  coming  from  a  man  who  lay  on  the  side  hill,  just 
out  of  the  swamp.  I  went  close  to  him.  He  seemed  to  be  de- 
lirious. He  lay  there  with  maggots  and  worms  crawling  in  and 
out  of  his  ears  and  his  nose;  lice  all  over  him;  flies  buzzing 
around;  maggots  and  worms  between  his  fingers  and  his  toes. 
And  there  he  lay,  seemingly  without  strength  to  move,  and 
from  his  mouth  there  poured  the  most  fearful  stream  of  oaths 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  iji 

I  ever  heard.  It  seemed  that  he  blamed  President  Lincoln 
for  not  arranging  an  exchange,  and  on  his  head  the  burden 
of  the  oaths  fell.  He  also  cursed  the  Union,  cursed  the  con- 
federacy, and  cursed  God  for  permitting  his  condition.  He 
lay  in  that  condition,  cursing  and  moaning,  for  several  days 
before  he  died.  And  scenes  like  that  were  not  uncommon; 
there  were  hundreds,  barring  the  oaths.  True,  such  deaths 
were  not  the  rule,  for  usually,  the  sick  and  helpless  were 
faithfully  and  tenderly  cared  for  by  their  friends  and 
companions,  even  until  death.  Those  whose  friends  had 
all  died,  or  who  had  become  partly,  or  wholly,  demented, 
and  got  into  the  habit  of  wandering  around  alone,  were 
the  ones  that  furnished  such  examples  of  extreme  horrible 
misery. 

There  are  in  the  National  Cemetery  at  Andersonville 
14,000  grave-stones. 

I  was  in  Andersonville  from  the  2d  day  of  May  until  about 
the  ist  of  October,  1864.  During  that  time  about  12,000  of  the 
prisoners  died,  an  average  of  eighty  for  each  day.  The  direct 
cause  of  this  terrible  death  rate  was  the  crowding  of  so  many 
into  so  small  a  space,  without  sufficient  food  and  shelter.  A 
larger  prison,  and  more,  and  better  food  it  was  in  the  power 
of  the  confederacy  to  furnish.  As  for  shelter,  the  pine  forest 
that  surrounded  the  prison  for  miles  in  every  direction,  would 
have  furnished  shelter  and  beds  in  abundance,  had  the 
prisoners  been  allowed  to  go  under  guard,  or  on  parole,  and 
help  themselves.  For  the  confederates  who  had  control  of 
rebel  prisons  there  is  absolutely  no  excuse.  They  were 
murderers,  cool,  calculating,  merciless  workers  of  a  worse 
instrument  of  torture  and  death  than  the  bloody  days  of  the 
French  guillotine,  and  gibbet,  and  stretching-rack,  ever 


132  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

• 

furnished.  And  those  in  authority  at  Washington,  at  the 
time,  from  Lincoln  down  are  not  blameless.  The  rebels 
claimed  that  they  were  always  willing  and  anxious  to 
exchange  prisoners,  but  that  an  exchange  could  not  be  agreed 
on,  because  our  authorities  would  not  enter  into  any  agree- 
ment that  did  not  recognize  the  freed  negroes,  who  had 
enlisted  in  the  Union  army  as  soldiers,  and  entitled  to  be 
exchanged,  the  same  as  white  men. 

As  a  matter  of  pure  principle,  this  was  probably  correct, 
but  as  a  matter  of  public  policy,  and  of  justice  and  mercy  to 
the  white  Union  soldiers,  who  had  enlisted  before  there  were 
any  freed  negroes,  it  was  all  wrong.  If  there  had  been  any 
considerable  number  of  negro  soldiers  in  the  prison  suffering 
with  the  others,  there  would  then  have  been  a  vital  principle 
of  justice,  as  well  as  honor  at  stake,  and  the  white  prisoners 
themselves,  would  have  been  the  last  men  in  the  world  to 
have  sacrificed  that  principle  in  order  to  secure  their  own 
liberty  and  lives.  There  was  not  a  negro  Union  soldier  in 
Andersonville,  or  in  any  other  prison  for  any  considerable 
time.  When  they  were  captured  they  were  either  sent  back 
to  their  old  masters,  or  put  to  work  on  rebel  fortifications* 
And  they  were  not  starved,  and  did  not  suffer.  They  were 
property  in  the  eyes  of  the  confederates,  and  as  such  were 
taken  care  of.  Their  condition  as  prisoners  was  little  worse 
than  it  had  always  been  before  the  war.  Stanton,  and  others 
who  insisted  on  that  point,  might  as  well  have  insisted  that 
every  black  in  the  South,  whose  liberty  had  been  granted 
him  by  the  Emancipation  Proclamation,  and  who  was  detained 
by  his  old  master,  should  be  a  subject  of  exchange. 

I  do  not  know  who  was  responsible  for  that  fearful 
blunder,  but  a  blunder  it  was,  and  every  prisoner  knew  and 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  133 

felt  it  to  be  such.  The  men  who  stood  out  and  refused  to 
exchange,  unless  the  negroes  were  recognized  by  the  rebels 
as  Union  soldiers,  and  exchanged  with  the  rest,  did  it  too, 
knowingly  and  advisedly.  The  prison  authorities  once  per- 
mitted the  prisoners  to  send  to  Washington  three  of  their 
number,  chosen  for  that  purpose,  who  took  with  them  a 
petition  to  the  president,  asking  that  an  immediate  exchange 
be  agreed  to,  on  the  terms  proposed  by  the  rebels,  and  setting 
out  fully  and  plainly  the  suffering  that  was  being  endured, 
and  the  loss  of  life  daily  occurring.  This  petition  was  signed 
by  thousands,  and  is  probably  now  on  file  among  the  records 
of  the  war.  Nothing  came  of  it.  There  was  a  political 
principle,  a  cold,  naked,  clean-cut  principle,  at  stake.  There 
are  many  thousand  grave-stones  at  Andersonville  which  would 
not  be  there,  and  many  thousand  widows  and  orphans  in  the 
land  who  would  not  have  been  widows  and  orphans  so  soon, 
but  for  the  mistaken  zeal  and  cold-blooded  principles  of  those 
authority  at  that  time. 

When  it  was  all  over,  and  thousands  of  the  poor 
emaciated  creatures  that  survived  were  sent  home,  and 
scattered  through  the  land,  and  the  truth  became  known,  and 
Harper's  Weekly,  and  other  illustrated  papers,  sent  out 
pictures  of  the  starved  heroes,  then  a  storm  of  indignation 
arose  which  threatened  to  burst  over  the  heads  of  the  misguided 
statesmen,  who  had  refused  to  exchange.  Then  something 
must  be  done;  Andersonville  must  be  avenged;  the  storm 
must  be  averted.  And  something  was  done;  Andersonville 
was  avenged;  poor  old  Wirz  was  hung.  Poor  old  Wirz — a 
miserable,  excitable  little  foreigner;  a  cross,  I  always  thought, 
or  mixture  of  Dutch,  Italian,  and  French,  with  nothing  Dutch 
about  him,  except  his  pipe  and  his  brogue ;  nothing  French, 


134  THE    SMOKED  TANK. 

except  his  nervous  excitability;  and  nothing  Italian,  except  his 
low  cunning.  Wirz  wasn't  a  man  of  anywhere  near  the 
average  ability  of  our  private  soldiers.  He  only  wore  a 
number  six  hat.  He  sometimes  came  into  the  prison,  and 
some  prisoner,  to  annoy  him,  would  sing  out:  "Sour 
crout."  Wirz  would  draw  his  revolver  and  run  in  the 
direction  of  the  voice.  Then  some  one  behind  would  yell 
out:  "Go  it,  Dutchie."  Failing  to  find  the  first  man,  he 
would  run  after  the  second,  and  so  on.  I  have  seen  him 
charging  around  in  that  way,  like  an  escaped  lunatic,  swearing 
in  Dutch  brogue,  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  It  fitly  illus- 
trated the  calibre  of  the  man.  Think  of  such  a  man,  and  he 
only  a  captain  in  rank,  being  hung  to  avenge  Andersonville. 

Wirz  had  charge  of  the  prison  as  a  kind  of  provost 
marshal.  He  received  and  issued  the  rations,  and  faithfully 
executed  his  orders.  But  as  to  his  being  in  any  manner  to 
blame  for  the  lack  of  food  and  shelter,  and  for  the  smallness 
of  the  pen,  and  other  such  evils,  I  do  n't  believe  he  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it.  General  Winder  was  the  commissary 
general  of  rebel  prisons.  He  established  the  prison,  and  knew 
all  about  it.  I  saw  him  there  with  his  staff,  twice  myself. 
Wirz  was  only  one  of  his  subordinates,  and  he  was  probably 
a  tool  of  somebody  higher  than  himself  in  authority. 

I  don't  suppose  Wirz  would  have  been  hung  had  not 
specific  acts  of  wanton  cruelty  to  prisoners,  not  justified  by 
the  prison  rules,  been  proved  against  him.  God  knows  he 
deserved  hanging  bad  enough,  but  as  there  were  thousands  of 
men  against  whom  specific  acts  of  cruelty,  and  of  murder, 
during  the  war,  could  have  been  proved,  who  were  not  tried, 
I  take  it  that  Wirz  was  really  hung  to  attract  the  attention  of 
the  people,  and  keep  some  of  the  blame  from  falling  where  it 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  135 

belonged.  I  read  the  account  of  his  trial  at  the  time,  and  it 
was  my  opinion  then,  that  to  hang  Wirz  and  let  Davis,  and  all 
others  who  were  over  him,  go  free,  was  a  cowardly  piece  of 
business  on  the  part  of  our  Government. 

Had  a  few  prominent  men,  generals  and  congressmen, 
been  starved  to  death  in  Andersonville,  Davis,  and  all  others 
in  authority,  would  have  been  hung.  Abraham  Lincoln  was 
painlessly,  artistically  removed.  Booth,  who  performed  the 
act,  was  killed,  and  all  those  who  could  in  any  way  be  con- 
nected with  the  planning  of  it,  four  in  all,  were  hung,  and 
justly,  too.  Thousands  of  soldiers  were  removed  at  Ander- 
sonville, and  the  work  was  not  painlessly  nor  artistically  done. 
Wirz,  a  half-witted  foreigner,  was  hung.  Lincoln  was 
president;  the  Andersonville  victims  were  all  privates.  This 
is  a  republic ! 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

OUTLINES    OF    A    PICTURE. 

Fortunes  have  been  made  by  exhibiting  panoramic  pict- 
ures of  Gettysburg,  Shiloh,  Sedan,  and  other  noted  battle-fields; 
why  not  exhibit  Andersonville  ?  The  loss  of  life  was  greater  than 
at  any  battle  of  the  war.  More  men  were  killed  there  than 
were  lost  in  the  Vicksburg  campaign  including  the  many  that 
died  from  sickness.  There  are  as  many  grave-stones  at 
Andersonville,  as  there  are  in  the  National  cemetery  at  Vicks- 
burg, where  the  Union  dead  are  collected  from  all  the  battle- 
fields and  camp-grounds  in  that  vicinity.  A  fortune  awaits  the 
man  who  shows  Andersonville  in  any  large  city  as  those  bat- 
tle-fields have  been  shown.  Greater  than  fortune,  renown, 
compared  to  which  that  of  Munkacsy  will  be  nothing,  awaits 
the  artist  who  will  do  justice  to  Andersonville  on  canvas. 

Ambitious  painter,  come.  Bring  your  brush  and  your 
easel.  Fill  in  with  details  true  to  life  these  outlines,  and  for- 
tune and  fame  are  yours ! 

Two  hill-sides  with  a  creek  running  between.  That's 
right.  Now,  the  swamp  ground  on  the  north  side.  There 
you  have  it.  Now,  the  stockade  and  the  dead-line.  Guards 
leaning  over  the  top  of  the  stockade  with  a  longing-to-go- 
home-on-furlough  look  in  their  eyes,  as  they  eagerly  watch 
the  dead-line.  Have  you  got  the  eyes?  All  right;  touch 
them  up  later.  The  gates  next,  and  then  the  streets; — that's 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  137 

so,  if  the  shanties  and  hovels  are  put  in,  the  streets  will  be  left. 
I  can't  help  you  much  on  the  shanties.  Every  conceivable 
form  of  shelter  from  sun  and  rain  that  Yankee  ingenuity  could 
contrive  and  make  out  of  logs,  limbs,  brush,  forks,  poles,  blank- 
ets, pine  leaves  for  thatching;  some  had  tents  and  sun-dried 
bricks.  Give  your  fancy  play;  you  will  hardly  invent  one  that 
could  not  have  been  found  there.  Oh,  yes,  there  are  photo- 
graphs; didn't  think  of  them,  they  will  help  you  out.  How 
close  together  shall  you  put  them?  Well,  give  the  rebels  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt,  if  there  is  any;  allow  four  by  six  feet  to 
each  man,  but  out  of  that,  you  must  save  room  to  pass  be- 
tween the  rows  of  hovels.  Now,  we  must  have  on  each  side 
of  these  streets,  booths  and  board  counters  on  which  hucksters 
have  for  sale  goods  and  provisions,  meat,  bread,  pies,  cakes, 
potatoes,  onions,  cabbage,  and  fruit.  To  use  a  couplet  from 
Barbara  Freitchie,  with  a  little  change,  makes  them  look, — 

"Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord 
To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  Union  horde." 

Under  tents  and  sheds  fronting  on  these  streets,  tasty 
lunch-counters,  and  well  equipped  restaurants  with  waiters  in 
attendance.  Tobacco  and  cigar  stands,  chuck-a-luck  and  faro 
boards,  wheel-of-fortune,  and  gambling  tents  with  men  sitting 
at  cards.  On  a  corner  near  the  center,  the  sutler's  depot  con- 
taining flour  in  bags,  tobacco  in  boxes,  every  variety  of  sutler 
goods  in  wholesale  quantities.  Standing  in  front  of  all  these 
boards,  counters,  and  stands,  rows  of  able-bodied  and  well- 
dressed  men,  eating,  smoking,  gambling,  spending  money  as 
freely  and  as  gaily  as  at  a  Northern  fair.  Behind  them,  a  pack 
of  moving  skeletons  in  rags,  grimy  and  black  from  smoke, 
feasting  their  eyes,  ready  to  grab  up  and  fight  for  any  crust  of 
bread,  or  bone,  or  melon  rind,  or  stub  of  cigar  that  might  be 


138  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

cast  among  them.  Often  I  have  seen  men  buy  food,  and  to 
see  the  fun  as  they  called  it,  cast  it  among  this  hungry, 
ragged  rabble,  and  watch  them  scramble  for  it  and  often  fight 
over  it.  Men  would  buy  watermelon  by  the  slice,  eat  the 
meat  and  throw  the  rind  on  the  ground  to  see  it  snatched 
up  and  ravenously  devoured.  The  rinds  and  seeds  of  melons 
were  eagerly  sought  for  as  cures  for  scurvy. 

We  must  have  here  and  there  an  oven  built  of  clay,  where 
pies  and  bread  are  baked;  barber  shops,  tailor  shops,  jew- 
elry shops,  with  lettered  signs  on  all  these.  Thousands  of 
naked  men  sitting  where  the  sun  could  shine  on  their  clothes, 
picking  off  lice.  Thousands  more  lying  on  the  ground  and 
in  the  hovels  in  the  delirium  of  fever,  or  dying  from  hunger 
and  the  ravages  of  scurvy;  kind  comrades  leaning  over  to  bathe 
parched  lips  and  fevered  brows,  and  whisper  to  them  of  the 
far  off  home,  to  rouse  their  failing  courage. 

And  now  the  sink  with  its  crowded  poles  and  crowds 
standing  by  watching,  struggling  for  a  place,  the  creek  above 
full  of  men  bathing  and  lined  by  others  washing  clothes,  and 
above  them,  where  the  water  came  in  under  the  dead- 
line a  crowd  with  buckets  formed  in  lines  and  taking  each  his 
turn  as  it  comes  to  dip  his  can  or  bucket  or  cup  and  get  clean 
water.  Now  and  then  one  reaches  too  far  or  is  pushed  from 
behind  across  the  fatal  line,  and  his  brains  and  blood  float 
down  among  the  bathers. 

Now,  put  in  the  skeletons  with  poles  striking  at  the  skim- 
ming swallows.  A  hundred  corpses  laid  in  a  row  at  the  south 
gate  all  nearly  naked,  on  the  breast  of  each  a  slip  of  paper  and 
a  price,  and  sitting  at  the  head  of  each  one  an  owner  watching 
either  to  sell  his  corpse  or  for  his  turn  to  carry  it  out. 

Near  the  same  gate,  show  the  poor  one-legged  man  on 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.       _  139 

his   crutch  and  the  fire  from  the   gun  of    the  guard  above, 
reaching  clear  to  his  face,  as  it  did. 

Now  cover  the  swamp  with  its  seething,  squirming  mass 
of  corruption,  with  here  and  there  a  helpless  being  lying 
in  it.  Show  a  hundred  more  scattered  around  under  the 
scorching  sun  in  the  last  stages  of  scurvy  with  flies,  and  mag- 
gots, and  lice  feeding  upon  them,  and  groans  and  curses; — no, 
you  cannot  paint  groans  and  curses.  You  cannot  paint  the  din 
and  racket  and  roar.  It  was  not  enough  that  thousands  should 
die  from  disease  brought  on  by  hunger  and  exposure,  and 
made  fatal  by  lack  of  medicine  and  care  —  they  must  die  with 
the  food  and  vegetables  that  would  save  their  lives,  in  sight. 
With  the  peddler's  cry  and  the  huckster's  call,  offering  for 
sale  dainty  dishes,  sounding  all  day  in  their  ears.  These 
things,  you  cannot  paint  no  more  than  you  can  the  feelings 
they  caused  in  the  minds  of  starving  men. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HOW   I   MANAGE   TO   LIVE MY   BUNK-MATE   GOES   TO  THE 

HOSPITAL 1   SECURE    A   CORNER   LOT,   AND    GET  INTO 

TRADE  —  SHERMAN'S  FINE-TOOTH  COMBS  AND  SCISSORS — 
REMOVAL  TO  FLORENCE,  SOUTH  CAROLINA. 

I  now  come  to  what  will  be  of  more  interest,  at  least,  to 
my  boys.  They  want  to  know  how  I  managed  to  live  where 
so  many  died.  As  before  stated,  my  bunk-mate,  Cook,  and 
myself,  went  into  the  Andersonville  prison  penniless  and 
entirely  destitute  in  every  way.  The  clothes  we  had  on  had 
been  cut  into  holes,  to  keep  them  from  being  taken  when  we 
were  at  Canton,  Miss.  We  began,  at  first,  to  flank  out  with 
those  detailed  to  bring  in  wood.  In  this  way  we  secured  our 
part  of  a  shanty,  made  of  brush  and  boughs.  We  sold  some 
of  the  wood  that  we  secured  flanking  out.  A  little  bundle  of 
"fat"  pine,  as  much  as  a  common  stove  stick  would  make, 
when  split  up  fine,  brought  twenty-five  cents  in  the  prison. 
Such  bundles  of  "fat"  pine  are  now  sold  in  southern  cities, 
especially  at  Atlanta,  Georgia,  where  I  lately  saw  them,  for 
one  cent.  They  are  used  for  kindling.  We  used  them  to 
boil  our  little  cans  of  mush.  One  little  blaze  held  under  a 
can  would  keep  it  boiling,  and  a  small  bundle  of  the  wood 
lasted  a  prisoner  several  days.  You  could  light  one  end  of 
a  piece  of  good,  "fat"  pine,  stick  the  other  end  in  the  ground' 
and  it  would  burn  there  like  a  candle.  The  smoke  from  that 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  141 

kind  of  wood  is  something  like  a  mixture  of  soot  and  oil.  It 
made  us  all  black.  It  took  good  soap  and  warm  water  to 
make  any  impression  on  it.  Water  could  be  warmed  in  the 
sun,  but  soap  was  scarce.  With  the  money  we  got  for  wood, 
Lynn  and  I  managed  to  piece  out  our  rations,  so  as  to  live. 

We  had  only  been  there  two  or  three  weeks,  when  we 
began  to  get  cooked  rations.  After  that  there  was  no  more 
flanking  out.  The  coarse  corn  bread  made  Lynn  sick.  It 
soon  became  so  loathsome  to  him  that  he  could  not  eat  it  at 
all.  In  that  condition,  a  man  could  die  of  hunger  with  piles  of 
the  corn  bread  in  his  bed.  In  spite  of  all  I  could  do  for  Lynn 
he  grew  gradually  worse.  I  walked  for  hours,  trying  to  trade 
his  corn  bread  and  strong  meat  for  beans,  or  rice,  or  some- 
thing that  he  could  eat.  Often  I  could  not,  because  too  many 
wanted  to  trade  the  same  way. 

Davidson,  our  partner  in  the  shanty,  had  money.  I  per- 
suaded him  to  loan  me  ten  dollars.  With  this  money  I  started 
a  small  huckster  stand.  Sold  salt,  rice,  beans,  tobacco,  and  such 
things  as  I  could  manage  with  so  little  capital.  Prices  were 
so  high  that  you  could  put  in  one  pocket  ten  dollars  worth  of 
such  articles.  With  the  profits  from  this  stand,  I  got  for  Lynn 
a  little  food  which  he  could  eat.  Before  I  had  gained  enough  to 
make  a  start  of  my  own,  the  raiders  became  so  bad  that  Dav- 
idson was  afraid  I  would  get  robbed.  I  had  to  pay  him  back 
and  quit.  Then  Lynn  thought  he  would  try  the  hospital.  We 
had  not  yet  learned  that  but  very  few  who  went  there  recov- 
ered. We  carried  him  to  sick-call.  He  was  admitted  to  the 
hospital.  Within  a  few  weeks,  we  learned  that  he  was  dead. 
No  braver  boy  or  better  comrade  ever  wore  the  blue. 

After  Lynn  went  to  the  hospital,  I  put  in  a  few  weeks  dig- 
ging tunnels  and  trying  to  find  a  chance  or  contrive  a  plan  for 

(10) 


142  THE    SMOKED  YANK. 

escape.  During  these  weeks,  I  had  nothing  to  eat  but  my 
rations.  I  got  so  thin  that  there  was  nothing  of  me  but  skin 
and  bone.  The  scurvy  got  hold  of  me,  my  gums  swelled  and 
my  teeth  got  sore  and  loose;  my  knees  were  swollen  and  my 
feet  puffed  and  bloated.  I  began  to  realize  that  I  must  get 
help  or  die,  and  1  suffered  from  hunger.  Had  I  lost  my  grip 
then,  I  would  have  been  a  goner.  The  harder  the  lines  were 
drawn,  the  more  was  I  determined  to  live  it  out. 

About  this  time  the  .  prison  was  enlarged  by  taking  in 
eight  acres  adjoining  the  old  stockade  on  the  north.  Certain 
detachments  were  designated  to  occupy  this  new  ground, 
which  was  covered  with  the  boughs  and  limbs  of  the  trees 
that  had  been  cut  down  for  the  new  stockade.  My  detach- 
ment was  not  one  that  was  to  go,  but  I  managed  to  flank  in, 
and  to  secure  a  footing,  and  build  a  shanty  on  the  main  street 
of  the  new  part,  and  at  a  good  place  for  trade.  As  soon  as 
the  ground  in  the  new  part  was  divided  off  and  occupied 
the  old  stockade  between  the  old  and  the  new  parts  was 
turned  over  to  the  prisoners,  and  a  general  scramble  for  the 
stockade  logs  began.  I  took  part  in  that,  with  some  success. 

I  now  had  a  shanty  on  one  of  the  best  places  in  the 
prison  for  a  huckster's  stand.  How  I  managed  to  hold  it  I 
cannot  now  remember.  I  was  a  squatter,  pure  and  simple, 
with  no  right  whatever  to  ground  even  to  sleep  on  in  that 
part  of  the  prison,  but  hold  it  I  did. 

Limber  Jim  was  one  of  the  Cahaba  prisoners.  He  had 
got  rich  selling  his  famous  "  root  beer,"  and  running  a  big 
stand.  I  showed  him  my  fine  location,  and  asked  him  to  start 
me  in  business.  He  did  so.  In  fact,  he  said  he  wanted  to  go 
out  of  the  trade,  because  he  had  made  enough  to  do  him, 
and  business  was  getting  dull.  So,  he  sold  me,  on  credit,  his 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  143 

entire  stock  of  goods,  amounting  to  $340.  It  was  a  large 
stock  to  get  on  credit,  but  not  difficult  to  carry.  There  was  a 
five  gallon  keg  of  honey,  partly  full,  billed  at  $150,  a  bushel 
of  potatoes,  at  $75>  a  box  of  tobacco,  at  $25,  and  a  few  other 
things.  It  did  not  take  a  large  counter  to  display  the  whole 
stock.  I  kept  it  at  night  in  a  box,  sunk  in  the  earth,  in  my 
shanty,  and  made  my  bed  over  the  box  at  night.  So  I  began 
trade,  on  what  I  thought,  and  what  was  for  that  place,  a  large 
scale.  The  money  we  used  was  mostly  greenbacks.  Con- 
federate money  was  taken  at  twenty  cents  on  the  dollar.  All 
prices  were  given  in  the  ruling  currency,  or  greenbacks. 
Potatoes  were  sold  at  $75  per  bushel,  and  retailed  at  from 
twenty-five  to  seventy-five  cents  each,  according  to  size.  It 
was  said  that  one  large  potato  would  cure  a  case  of  scurvy. 
Biscuits  were  bought  at  $2.50  a  dozen,  and  sold  at  twenty-five 
cents  each,  thirty  cents  with  butter,  and  thirty-five  cents  with 
honey.  Eggs  retailed  at  twenty-five  cents  each;  salt,  twenty- 
five  cents  a  spoonful;  melons,  ten  to  twenty-five  cents  a  slice, 
according  to  the  size  of  the  slice;  a  pint  cup  of  chicken  broth, 
with  a  spoonful  of  rice  and  chicken,  shown  in  the  spoon,  on 
top  of  the  cup,  forty  cents;  huckleberry  pies  were  bought  at 
$1.25  each,  and  sold  for  forty  cents  a  quarter.  Whiskey  was 
scarce,  and  hard  to  find,  but  now  and  then  a  canteen  full 
would  be  smuggled  in,  and  it  sold  for  twenty-five  cents  for 
one  swallow  from  the  canteen.  The  prices  of  all  other  goods 
(and  you  could  buy  almost  everything  in  the  provision  line,  if 
you  had  money)  were  in  the  same  proportion.  These  prices 
were  outrageous,  and  the  result  of  the  monopoly  enjoyed  by 
the  prison  sutler,  one  Selden,  formerly  of  Dubuque,  Iowa,  and 
a  meaner  rascal  than  old  Wirz  knew  how  to  be.  No  one  else 
was  allowed  to  sell  anything  to  the  prisoners,  but  a  consider- 


144  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

able  trade  was  carried  on  by  smugglers,  both  prisoners  and 
guards.  In  order  to  do  anything  in  the  smuggling  line,  which 
was  more  profitable  than  legitimate  trade,  I  secured  a 
prisoner,  named  James  Donahue,  who  belonged  to  an  Indiana 
regiment,  as  a  partner.  He  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but 
was  an  expert  in  the  smuggling  line,  and  quick  and  sharp  in 
any  kind  of  trade.  Escape  was  my  hobby,  and  I  spent  most 
of  my  profits  in  various  tunnels  and  other  projects  for  escape, 
but  never  succeeded  in  getting  out,  though  I  was  several 
times  very  near  success. 

When  Sherman's  army  approached  Atlanta,  the  rebels 
found  that  a  raid  would  be  made  to  liberate  us,  and  began 
preparations  for  our  removal.  Stoneman's  raid  was  designed 
for  our  release,  but  did  not  succeed.  On  the  contrary,  a  large 
number  of  his  men  were  captured,  and  brought  to  Anderson- 
ville  as  prisoners. 

Instead  of  rendering  any  assistance  to  us,  the  badly 
managed  raid  of  Stoneman  resulted  in  adding  several  thousand 
to  the  already  densely  packed  prison,  making  our  condition 
worse  than  before.  This  was  not  Sherman's  fault.  The 
plan  was  a  good  one,  and  did  credit  both  to  his  head  and  to 
his  heart.  Had  others  in  authority  manifested  as  much 
interest  in,  and  consideration  for  the  prisoners,  as  Sherman 
did,  some  arrangement  would  have  been  made  for  their 
relief.  What  a  pity  that  Sheridan,  or  Kilpatrick,  or  some 
man  capable  of  conducting  such  a  campaign,  was  not  chosen 
for  the  work.  No  other  opportunity  for  a  feat-of-arms  so 
brilliant  as  the  release  of  the  Andersonville  prisoners  would 
have  been,  was  furnished  by  the  war. 

I  always  have  to  laugh  when  I  think  of  Sherman's 
scheme  for  the  relief  of  the  prisoners.  On  page  143,  second 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  145 

volume,  of  his  Memoirs,  he  says :  "  All  this  time  Hood  and  I 
were  carrying  on  the  foregoing  correspondence,  relating  to 
the  exchange  of  prisoners,  the  removal  of  the  people  from 
Atlanta,  and  the  relief  of  our  prisoners-of-war  at  Anderson- 
ville.  Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  their  imprisonment, 
some  of  these  men  escaped  from  Andersonville,  and  got  to 
me  at  Atlanta.  They  described  their  sad  condition.  More 
than  25,000  prisoners  confined  in  a  stockade  designed  for 
only  10,000;  debarred  the  privilege  of  gathering  wood  out  of 
which  to  make  huts;  deprived  of  sufficient  healthy  food;  and 
the  little  stream  that  ran  through  their  prison  pen  poisoned 
and  polluted  by  the  offal  from  their  cooking  and  butchering 
houses  above.  On  the  22d  of  September  I  wrote  to  General 
Hood,  describing  the  condition  of  our  men  at  Andersonville, 
purposely  refraining  from  casting  odium  on  him,  or  his 
associates  for  the  treatment  of  these  men,  but  asking  his  con- 
sent for  me  to  procure  from  our  generous  friends  at  the 
North  the  articles  of  clothing  and  comfort,  which  they 
wanted,  viz.,  underclothing,  soap,  combs,  scissors,  etc.,  all 
needed  to  keep  them  in  health,  and  to  send  these  stores  with 
a  train,  and  an  officer  to  issue  them.  General  Hood,  on 
the  24th,  promptly  consented,  and  I  telegraphed  to  my  friend, 
Mr.  James  E.  Yeatman,  vice-president  of  the  Sanitary  Com- 
mission at  St.  Louis,  to  send  us  all  the  underclothing  and  soap 
he  could  spare,  specifying  1,200  fine-tooth  combs,  and  400 
pairs  of  shears  to  cut  hair.  These  articles  indicate  the  plague 
that  most  afflicted  our  prisoners  at  Andersonville. 

"Mr.  Yeatman  promptly  responded  to  my  request,  ex- 
pressed the  articles,  but  they  did  not  reach  Andersonville  in 
time,  for  the  prisoners  were  soon  after  removed.  These 
supplies  did,  however,  finally  overtake  them  at  Jacksonville, 
Florida,  just  before  the  war  closed." 


146  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

Soap,  fine-tooth  combs,  scissors,  and  underclothes. 
What  an  idea  he  must  have  had  of  our  "  sad  condition,"  when 
he  thought  those  articles  indicated  the  plague  that  most  af- 
flicted us. 

Uncle  Billy,  your  judgment  of  the  fighting,  marching, 
foraging  capacity  of  a  Yankee  soldier  was  never  at  fault,  but 
when  you  proposed  to  relieve  30,000  starving  Yankees  with 
"  1,200  fine-tooth  combs  and  400  pairs  of  shears,"  you  were 
away  off.  You  made  no  allowance,  whatever,  for  Yankee 
ingenuity.  The  soap  would  have  been  handy,  the  under- 
clothes would  have  made  fine  summer  suits,  but  we  were  not 
particular  about  our  appearance.  A  starving  man  will  eat 
before  making  his  toilet.  There  were  plenty  of  fine-tooth 
combs,  and  enough  shears.  If  there  hadn't  been,  how  long 
would  it  have  taken  Yankees  to  have  made  them?  We  were 
not  troubled  much  with  the  kind  that  you  can  catch  with  a 
fine-tooth  comb,  or  cut  off  with  scissors.  It  was  not  the 
fashion  there  to  give  away  things  to  eat,  but  combs  and 
scissors  were  freely  lent.  Hard-tack,  sow-belly,  rice,  and 
beans,  Uncle  Billy,  those,  and  vegetables  for  scurvy,  would 
have  cured  us  all.  Had  you  been  there  and  seen  men  make 
counterfeit  greenbacks;  make  jewelry,  and  mend  watches,  to 
say  nothing  about  combs,  wooden  buckets,  and  the  like,  you 
would  laugh,  yourself,  at  the  idea  of  relieving  them  with  fine- 
tooth  combs  and  scissors. 

One  evening,  just  after  dark,  I  sold  something  to  a 
prisoner,  and  gave  him  change  for  a  $10  greenback.  In 
broad  daylight  that  greenback  wouldn't  pass,  but  it  was  fine 
work  to  be  done  in  such  a  place.  I  took  in  trade  an  open- 
face  silver  watch.  The  crystal  got  broken.  I  took  it  to  a 
watch-maker's  shop.  He  ceuldn't  make  a  crystal,  but  he 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  147 

took  a  silver  half  dollar,  and  with  it  converted  my  watch  into 
a  hunter  case.     All  such  trades  were  represented  there. 

When  arrangements  for  our  removal  were  perfected,  the 
old  story  of  a  general  exchange  was  again  circulated,  and  was 
again  believed  because  so  much  desired.  Donahue,  my  part- 
ner, bought  a  chance  to  go  with  the  first  lot  that  were  taken 
out.  The  man  who  sold  the  chance  staying  in  Donahue's 
place.  I  think  the  first  lot  were  taken  to  Savannah  and  ex- 
changed. When  the  time  came  for  the  detachment  to  which 
I  belonged  to  go,  I  sold  out  my  little  stock  of  goods  and  con- 
cealed in  my  clothes  about  seventy  dollars  in  greenbacks 
that  I  had  accumulated. 

We  were  marched  out  by  detachments.  There  were  so 
many  too  weak  to  walk  or  so  lame  from  scurvy,  that  every 
well  man  had  to  assist  one  or  two  of  the  sick  or  lame  to  the 
depot  about  a  mile  away.  We  were  halted  in  front  of  Wirz's 
quarters  to  answer  roll-call  and  be  counted,  Wirz  had  been 
sick,  but  he  came  out  leaning  on  a  cane,  and  took  occasion  to 
do  some  of  his  Dutch  swearing.  He  called  us  damned  Yan- 
kee thieves  and  robbers;  said  we  didn't  look  so  fine  as  when 
we  came  there ;  was  sorry  there  were  so  many  of  us  able  to  go, 
and  that  if  he  had  had  his  way,  there  wouldn't  have  been  a 
damn  man  of  us  alive.  I  can 't  remember  his  words,  but  that 
is  the  substance  of  his  brutal  leave-taking. 

We  were  loaded  into  common  cattle  cars  and  fastened  in. 
Guards  with  guns  rode  on  the  top  of  each  car.  At  Milledge- 
ville,  we  were  unloaded  for  awhile,  and  when  we  were  again 
started  from  there  toward  Charleston,  we  began  to  feel  sure 
that  our  prison  days  were  about  over.  Our  hopes  revived. 
We  were  happy;  men  who  had  not  smiled  for  months  were 
brim-full  of  joy  and  glee .  They  forgot  hunger,  and  swollen 


148  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

joints,  and  fleshless  limbs,  and  useless  feet,  and  talked  of  bliss- 
ful hours  to  come;  of  meetings  soon  to  be  with  wives  and 
children,  with  fathers,  mothers,  brothers  and  sisters,  and  many 
of  "another  not  a  sister."  And  then  the  talk  would  run  on 
things  they  would  get  to  eat;  imaginary  tables  would  be 
spread,  upon  which  each  would  place  his  favorite  dish,  and  all 
this  while  crowded  together  in  cattle  cars  so  closely  that  we 
had  to  take  turns  in  lying  down.  There  were  no  regrets,  no 
mention  of  past  suffering.  Hope,  bright  angel  of  the  morning, 
ruled  in  each  breast,  and  to  a  bright  and  joyous  future  each 
weary  eye  was  turned.  Sad,  sad,  was  the  sequel. 

We  reached  Charleston,  heard  the  sound  of  Union  guns, 
even  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dear  old  flag.  What  rejoicing! 
How  we  shouted!  But  presently  our  train  moved  on.  Our 
hopes  began  to  sink.  When  the  dismal  tidings  came  that  we 
were  on  our  way  to  Florence,  to  another  stockade,  utter  woe 
and  despair  took  possession  where  joyful  hope  had  been. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

I    GO    FOR     WATER     AND     ESCAPE A     FAITHFUL     PEOPLE A 

NOVEL    CHARACTER A    COMICAL    HERO. 

At  Florence,  S.  C.,  we  were  unloaded  and  placed  on  some 
vacant  ground  near  the  depot  and  a  chain  of  guards  thrown 
around  us.  It  was  a  little  before  sundown.  I  had  carried 
with  me  a  bundle  containing  a  pair  of  clean,  white  pants  made 
of  meal  bags,  and  a  white  shirt;  obtaining  some  water  and 
soap,  I  washed  myself,  put  on  the  clean  pants  and  shirt  and 
made  myself  look  as  little  like  a  Yankee  prisoner  as  I  pos- 
sibly could.  I  was  planning  to  bribe  a  guard  and  get  away, 
or,  if  that  failed,  to  knock  one  over  in  the  dark  and  run.  I 
had  determined  to  make  at  least  an  effort  to  escape  before 
entering  another  stockade.  I  had  some  sweet  potatoes  that 
I  had  bought  from  a  negro  at  a  station  on  the  way,  and  these 
I  wanted  to  cook  so  as  to  leave  on  a  full  stomach. 

There  was  a  sergeant  and  squad  of  guards  detailed  to  guard 
the  prisoners,  from  the  ground  where  we  were  kept,  to  the  well 
where  water  was  obtained.  I  picked  up  a  bucket  to  go  for 
water,  and  got  to  the  place  where  an  officer  was  stationed  to 
count  out  and  in  those  who  went  for  water,  a  little  after  a  gang 
had  passed  out.  I  spoke  politely  to  the  officer  and  told  him  I 
wanted  some  water  and  would  at  once  over-take  the  party. 
They  were  but  thirty  or  forty  steps  away,  and  he  said :  "  Step 
out  quick  then,  and  catch  up."  I  did  so  in  good  faith,  and  he 


1 50  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

made  another  mark  on  his  tally-sheet.  I  quickly  over-took 
the  party,  noticing  that  the  officer  had  turned  around  as  soon 
as  he  saw  me  well  up  with  them,  and  also  that  neither  the  ser- 
geant nor  any  of  the  guards  had  observed  my  approach.  So, 
instead  of  falling  in  behind  the  column  of  prisoners,  I  put  on  a 
careless  air  and  walked  a  little  faster,  passing  both  the  prison- 
ers and  the  guards  who  marched  behind  them,  and  walked 
along  in  front  of  the  whole  party;  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
guards  might  not  take  me  for  a  Yankee  on  account  of  my 
clothes,  and  that  I  could  test  that  point  without  being  charge- 
able with  an  attempt  to  escape.  The  orders  were  to  shoot 
any  prisoner  caught  in  the  act  of  attempting  to  escape,  and  I 
did  not  want  to  run  the  risk  of  being  shot. 

The  well  that  we  were  going  to  was  in  the  yard  behind 
the  house.  I  got  to  it  first,  filled  my  bucket  and  sat  down 
on  the  back  porch  of  the  house  beside  the  owner  of  the  prem- 
ises and  commenced  talking  with  him  about  the  Yankee  pris- 
oners, conveying  the  idea  that  I  was  not  one  of  them. 

The  prisoners  spent  some  time  in  washing  themselves 
before  they  filled  their  pails  to  return.  I  was  in  an  agony  of 
suspense.  I  did  not  know  whether  the  sergeant  in  charge 
took  me  for  a  prisoner  or  not,  and  I  dared  not  undertake  to 
go  away  until  I  found  out,  so  I  put  on  as  much  unconcern 
as  I  could  and  waited.  Finally,  the  order  came,  "Fall  in, 
Yanks,  fall  in."  The  rest  formed  in  line.  I  paid  no  atten- 
tion, but  kept  on  talking  to  the  proprietor.  I  saw  the 
sergeant  looking  sharply  at  me ;  then  he  counted  his  prisoners, 
and,  satisfied  with  the  count  that  I  was  not  one,  he  marched 
them  away.  I  was  not  with  the  party  when  he  counted  them 
out.  My  new-made  acquaintance  was  now  in  the  way.  I 
had  to  do  something  with  my  pail  of  water  or  his  suspicions 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  151 

would  be  aroused.  There  was  no  time  to  spare,  for  it  was 
only  two  hundred  yards  to  where  the  counting-in  would  be 
done  by  the  officer  that  let  me  out  and  I  would  be  missed; 
fortunately  the  man  stepped  into  the  house.  I  set  my  pail  of 
water  behind  the  well-curb,  scaled  the  high  board  fence  at  the 
back  of  the  yard  and  walked  off;  I  dared  not  run  for  that 
would  attract  the  attention  of  people  who  were  in  sight.  I 
got  to  the  main  street  where  many  people  were  moving  back 
and  forth  and  talking  about  the  Yanks,  and  walked  away  as 
fast  as  I  could;  looking  back  I  saw  bayonets  glistening  in  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  all  around  that  well  and  yard.  I 
gained  the  outskirts  of  the  town  without  being  noticed;  got 
into  a  patch  of  woods  and  then  ran;  ran  until  I  felt  safe  from 
immediate  pursuit,  and  then  walked  on  through  the  woods. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night,  I  ran  across  a  party  of  negroes 
hunting  possum;  I  told  them  who  I  was,  and  asked  them 
about  the  country,  the  roads,  and  the  prospects  of  my 
getting  to  Union  lines.  They  advised  me  to  make  for  the 
coast,  and  when  there,  to  signal  some  blockading  vessel. 
They  said  such  vessels  patrolled  the  coast,  to  prevent  the  rebels 
making  salt.  I  resolved  to  follow  their  advice.  They  told 
me  to  cross  the  Pedee  river  at  a  certain  ferry,  run  by  a  negro 
whom  they  said  I  could  trust.  I  found  the  ferry,  and  in  the 
morning,  when  the  negro  came  out,  made  myself  known  to 
him.  He  said  it  was  not  safe  to  travel  by  day,  and  took  me 
to  a  hiding  place  in  the  woods,  to  stay  until  night,  and  furn- 
ished me  with  plenty  to  eat.  That  night,  when  he  came  after 
me,  he  brought  along  another  escaped  prisoner,  a  young  fel- 
low whose  name  I  have  forgotten;  he  seem  to  be  all  right,  and 
we  agreed  to  stay  together.  The  ferry-man  thought  our  best 
way  was  to  get  a  boat,  and  go  down  the  river  to  the  coast. 


1 52  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

As  there  was  no  moon,  he  thought  we  could  paddle  down  by 
night,  without  being  seen,  and  hide  in  the  swamps  during  the 
day.  He  told  us  where  we  would  find  a  dug-out,  and  loaned 
us  an  iron  bar,  with  which  to  break  the  lock.  We  were  soon 
in  the  dug-out,  paddling  down  the  Pedee.  When  morning  came 
I  wanted  to  hide  in  the  woods,  but  my  companion  wanted  to  land 
at  a  plantation,  and  get  some  provisions.  We  had  enough 
food  provided  by  the  ferry-man,  for  that  day,  and  I  objected 
to  running  any  unnecessary  risks,  but  he  insisted  on  landing, 
so  I  paddled  the  canoe  to  the  east  bank  of  the  river,  and 
stepped  out,  telling  him  to  go  his  way,  and  I  would  go  mine. 
I  never  saw  him  again. 

I  lay  in  the  brush  until  toward  night,  and  then  started  to 
find  some  road  or  plantation,  before  dark,  where  I  could  find 
a  negro  to  give  me  directions.  There  was  a  wide  swamp  on 
that  side  of  the  river,  and  not  being  aware  of  it,  I  was  soon 
in  it.  It  was  a  dismal  enough  place,  full  of  owls,  and  bats, 
and  snakes.  I  traveled  several  hours  in  this  swamp,  and  was 
beginning  to  think  myself  in  a  fix,  when  I  heard  a  cow-bell, 
and  steering  for  that,  found  dry  ground.  I  came  to  a  planta- 
tion that  night,  skulked  around  until  I  saw  a  negro  alone,  to 
whom  I  told  my  story.  He  said  that  every  white  man, 
woman  and  child,  in  the  county,  was  looking  for  escaped 
prisoners;  that  all  the  bridges  and  cause- ways  across  swamps, 
were  guarded  at  night,  and  all  the  roads  patrolled.  The  only 
way  I  could  get  through,  was  to  secrete  myself  during  the 
day,  and  travel  with  a  negro  guide  at  night,  who  would  know 
how  to  avoid  roads  and  bridges.  This  negro  guided  me  about 
ten  miles  that  night,  and  left  me  with  one  of  his  friends.  The 
next  day  was  Sunday,  and  quite  a  number  of  negroes  visited 
me,  where  I  was  hid  in  the  woods;  they  brought  food  to  give 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  153 

me,  and  treated  me  very  kindly;  I  was  the  first  Union  soldier 
and  probably  the  first  Union  man,  any  of  them  had  ever  seen. 
The  questions  they  asked,  were  both  numerous  and  novel. 
I  was  surprised  at  their  intelligence,  in  some  directions,  and 
amused  at  their  ignorance,  in  others.  Their  ideas  of  govern- 
ment, and  of  personal  and  property  rights,  were  all  drawn 
from  the  Bible.  That  was  their  sole  authority,  and  they  had 
that  down  fine.  Even  those  who  could  not  read,  only  now 
and  then  one  could,  would  quote  passage  after  passage  from 
the  Bible  relating  to  themselves,  and  give  the  verse  and 
chapter  with  surprising  accuracy.  Deliverance  from  slavery, 
was  not  a  surprise  to  them ;  they  had  been  hoping  and  pray- 
ing for  it  for  years,  with  perfect  faith  that  their  prayers  would 
be  answered.  It  seemed  that  they  had  always  expected  it  to 
come  from  some  outside  source,  and  had  never  entertained  a 
thought  of  taking  a  part  themselves,  in  their  deliverance. 
They  were  and  are  a  peculiarly  faithful  and  patient  people. 
Should  they  ever  become  thoroughly  aroused  and  united  in 
a  movement  to  throw  off  the  white  man's  yoke,  that  still 
oppresses  and  galls  them,  I  believe  that  the  fortitude,  endur- 
ance, and  heroism  they  will  display,  will  surprise  the  world. 
The  leader  of  the  company  that  staid  in  the  woods  with 
me  nearly  all  that  day,  was  a  preacher.  Before  he  left,  see- 
ing that  I  had  no  coat,  he  asked  me  if  I  did  not  need  one  and 
soon  after  they  went  away,  one  of  them  came  back,  bringing 
me  quite  a  comfortable  overcoat.  That  night  I  was  guided 
to  a  plantation  on  a  public  road  running  from  Florence  to  a 
place  on  the  coast  where  there  were  salt  works.  There,  a 
plan  was  formed,  of  secreting  me  in  a  wagon  that  made 
weekly  trips  to  the  coast,  driven  by  a  negro.  I  waited  two 
days  for  the  wagon,  concealed  in  the  daytime  in  a  fodder 


154  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

house,  under  the  bundles  of  corn  fodder.  When  the  negro 
came  along  with  his  wagon,  he  had  two  passengers,  a  white 
woman  and  her  little  girl.  Of  course  I  could  not  ride  in  such 
company. 

That  night  I  was  piloted  again  through  woods  and  swamps 
and  left  at  the  house  of  a  negro  preacher.  He  lived  alone,  and 
when  he  went  to  work,  locked  his  door  with  a  padlock  on 
the  outside,  leaving  me  on  the  inside.  He  procured  for  me 
some  paper,  pen,  and  ink,  and  I  wrote  myself  a  rebel  fur- 
lough, thinking  it  might  come  handy  should  I  be  picked  up  by 
some  of  the  patrols.  I  represented  myself  in  the  furlough  as 
belonging  to  the  Georgia  regiment  that  had  guarded  us  from 
Andersonville  to  Florence,  and  I  signed  the  name  of  a  captain 
whom  I  happened  to  know.  That  night  there  was  no  one 
ready  to  guide  me  further,  and  I  was  taken  to  a  stack 
of  straw  out  in  a  field,  into  which  I  crawled  to  spend  the 
night.  Along  in  the  night  someo'ne  came  and  crawled  into 
the  straw  quite  close  to  me.  I  thought  it  must  be  a  negro, 
but  said  nothing.  About  daylight  I  heard  my  unknown  bed- 
fellow crawling  out,  and  concluded  to  crawl  out  too,  and  see 
who  he  was.  We  were  both  badly  scared  when  we  stood  up 
and  faced  each  other.  He  was  a  rebel  soldier  in  full  uniform. 
He  had  deserted,  and  was  hiding  in  the  neighborhood  of  his 
home,  making  occasional  visits  by  stealth  to  his  family.  I 
bought  this  man's  jacket  which  had  South  Carolina  buttons, 
for  $5  in  greenbacks. 

That  day  I  was  secreted  in  the  woods,  and  when  my 
dinner  was  brought  to  me  at  noon,  a  big  negro  with  a  club 
and  a  gun,  accompanied  the  bearer.  He  was  a  run-away 
slave.  Had  been  in  the  woods  and  swamps  for  seven  years. 
Had  often  been  pursued,  but  never  captured.  Said  that 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  155 

white  men  could  not  take  him  alive.  He  roamed  about  from 
place  to  place,  occasionally  visiting  his  wife  and  children. 
He  was  known  to  most  of  the  negroes  in  the  regions  he 
frequented,  and  by  them  had  never  been  betrayed.  He 
killed  hogs  and  cattle,  and  traded  the  meat  to  other  negroes 
for  clothing  and  bread.  He  was  a  veritable  wild  man  of  the 
woods,  and  the  story  of  his  adventures  and  escapes  from 
blood-hounds,  entertained  and  thrillled  me  for  hours. 

That  night  I  secured  a  guide  and  moved  on.  Was  left 
at  another  plantation,  where  I  staid  two  days  to  let  an  old  uncle 
mend  my  shoes. 

Provided  with  another  faithful  guide,  I  passed  through  a 
wide  swamp,  crossing  the  deep  creeks  on  a  foot-path  of  logs 
known  only  to  negroes.  Over  the  swamp,  I  was  directed  to 
a  plantation  some  miles  away,  where  I  was  to  wake  up  another 
negro  in  a  certain  one  of  the  negro  houses  that  was  described. 
It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  and  I  did  not  feel  safe  on  a 
public  road,  so  I  stopped  at  the  first  plantation  I  came  to, 
thinking  it  better  to  trust  the  first  negro  I  could  find  than  to 
go  alone. 

I  knocked  at  what  I  supposed  was  a  negro  quarter.  At 
first,  no  answer.  I  rapped  louder,  and  a  voice  called  out: 
"  Who  is  there?  "  It  was  unquestionably  a  white  man's  voice. 
I  replied:  "I'm  a  stranger,  have  lost  my  way  and  want  to  stay 
all  night."  And  then  I  ran.  Was  out  of  sight  by  the  time 
he  had  slipped  on  his  pants  and  opened  the  door.  I  ran  on 
until  I  came  to  the  forks  of  two  roads.  Here  there  was  a 
solitary  log  house.  I  crept  up  to  it,  and  peering  through  a 
crack,  saw  two  negroes  sitting  in  front  of  the  fireplace. 
They  were  talking,  and,  thinking  I  could  form  an  opinion 
from  their  talk  as  to  whether  they  would  do  for  me  to  trust, 


156  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I  watched  them  and  listened.  Presently,  I  heard  the  gallop- 
ing of  a  horse,  up  the  road  I  came,  and  had  just  time  to  hide 
in  the  shadow  of  some  scrub  oaks  near  by,  when  a  white  man 
came  up  at  full  gallop,  revolver  in  hand.  He  rapped  at  the 
door  and  brought  the  negroes  out,  saying :  "  Bring  out  that 
white  rascal  you  have  got  hid  in  there."  They  had  seen  no 
white  man,  and  told  him  to  come  in  and  search,  which  he  did. 

He  then  galloped  away,  taking  the  same  road  I  wanted 
to  follow.  I  did  not  like  the  appearance  of  the  two  negroes, 
and  so  ran  on  after  my  pursuer.  He  stopped  at  every  planta- 
tion, and  made  inquiries,  and  I  usually  came  up  about  the 
time  he  would  be  leaving.  I  followed  him  in  this  way,  until 
I  came  to  the  plantation  that  I  had  been  directed  to,  and 
counting  off  so  many  houses  from  the  white  folks'  house,  and 
whispering  his  name  at  a  crack  between  the  logs,  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  negro  that  I  was  after.  He  had  been 
awakened  by  the  noise  made  by  the  man  on  the  horse.  He 
was  wonderfully  tickled  at  the  idea  of  my  following  the  man 
who  was  pursuing  me.  This  negro  advised  me  to  stay  with 
him  until  the  negro  from  Florence,  with  the  wagon,  came 
along  again.  Said  he  would  be  there  on  the  next  night,  on 
his  way  to  the  coast,  and  would  stay  all  night  with  him.  I 
stayed  concealed  in  the  woods.  The  negro  with  the  wagon 
was  on  time,  and  early  the  following  morning  I  was  carefully 
stored  away  in  the  wagon  underneath  the  fodder  carried  to 
feed  the  mules.  It  was  a  covered  wagon,  and  full  of  the 
fodder  of  that  country,  which  is  the  leaves  stripped  from  corn, 
cured  and  tied  in  bundles.  The  wagon  was  drawn  by  three 
mules.  The  driver  rode  on  the  nigh  wheel  mule,  and  drove 
the  leader  with  a  jerk-line. 

I  have  seen  many  attempts  to  imitate  the  negro,  but  here 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  157 

was  an  original  and  comic  genius  that  beat  any  negro  minstrel 
I  have  ever  seen.  He  had  a  banjo,  a  fiddle,  and  a  pair  of 
bones.  He  wore  a  fireman's  hat,  made  of  leather  and  iron, 
and  was  otherwise  rigged  out  in  clownish  fashion.  At  nearly 
every  house  we  passed  he  had  something  to  deliver.  Pack- 
ages of  goods,  purchased  at  Florence,  letters,  and  messages. 
His  wagon  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  weekly  express  for  all  the 
country  through  which  he  passed.  Every  one  knew  him,  and 
every  one  bantered  and  joked  with  him.  As  he  drove  along 
the  road  he  whistled,  and  sang,  and  played  on  his  several  in- 
struments in  turn. 

At  Conwayborough,  a  village  through  which  we  passed, 
there  was  a  bridge  and  some  rebel  soldiers  on  guard.  The 
negro  bantered  and  joked  with  them,  also,  and  when  they 
ask  him  if  he  had  any  Yanks  in  his  wagon,  he  replied,  "Go 
way  dah,  you  home  guards  — you'uns  thought  dah  was  Yanks 
in  dis  here  wagon,  I  could  jus  dance  juba  on  you  'ns  coat 
tails  as  dey  'd  stick  out  behind." 

The  rebels  thought  best  to  make  some  search,  and  they 
poked  the  fodder  around  with  the  muzzles  of  their  guns.  As 
for  me,  I  was  so  badly  scared  that  I  thought  they  must  surely 
hear  the  rattle  of  the  fodder,  caused  by  the  beating  of  my 
heart.  They  discovered  nothing,  and  we  moved  on. 

When  there  were  no  houses  in  sight  I  crawled  out  of  my 
hole  in  the  fodder,  and  watched  the  road  behind  us,  the  driver 
watching  in  front.  And  thus  with  music  and  song,  gibes  and 
jokes,  and  juba  danced  on  the  saddle  of  the  nigh  mule,  we 
journeyed  to  the  sea. 

About  10  o'clock  that  night  we  began  to  hear  the  sound 
of  the  breakers.  I  had  never  seen  the  sea,  and  supposed  that 
when  it  was  calm  there  were  no  waves.  This  was  a  beauti- 


158  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

ful,  calm,  moonlight  night,  and  to  hear  the  roar  of  breakers 
two  miles  away  was  a  revelation  to  me.  I  had  thought  all 
along  that  I  would  take  a  great  bath  when  I  came  to  the  sea, 
and  when  we  got  there  I  undressed  and  walked  out  on  the 
sandy  beach,  but  those  breakers  I  had  not  counted  on,  and  I 
dared  not  venture  in. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"HELL  HATH  NO  FURY  LIKE  A  WOMAN  SCORNED " A  BADLY 

SCARED  NEGRO CAPTURED   BY  A  FOURTEEN- YEAR-OLD 

BOY  —  IN  A  FELON'S  CELL. 

My  comical  guide  made  me  known  to  some  of  the 
darkies  at  the  salt  works.  They  kept  me  concealed  and  took 
care  of  me  several  days,  but  thought  there  was  not  much 
prospect  of  my  getting  away  on  a  blockade  vessel;  said  the 
blockaders  had  ceased  to  visit  that  part  of  the  coast.  I 
remained  there  until  I  got  tired  of  waiting  and  watching,  and 
then,  after  consulting  with  the  best  posted  of  the  negroes, 
concluded  to  work  my  way  into  Wilmington,  N.  C.,  and  if 
possible,  enlist  on  on  a  blockade  runner.  These  darkies  had 
heard  that  it  was  so  hard  to  get  men  to  go  on  blockade  run- 
ners, that  the  officers  would  take  whoever  applied,  without 
asking  questions. 

My  idea  was  that  if  I  could  get  on  one  of  these  vessels,  and 
did  not  get  captured  by  my  friends,  I  could  claim  protection 
from  an  American  Consul  at  some  neutral  port,  where  the 
vessel  would  land.  I  was  near  the  line  between  North  and 
South  Carolina,  and  one  night,  I  started  up  the  coast  toward 
Wilmington.  About  12  o'clock,  I  came  to  a  stream  or  inlet, 
where  there  was  a  ferry.  There  was  a  plantation  on  the  side 
of  the  stream  that  I  was  on,  and  quite  a  number  of  negro 
houses,  I  entered  one  of  these,  the  door  of  which  was  open, 


160  THE    SMOKED  YANK. 

and  after  pulling  and  shaking  him  for  some  time,  awakened  a 
negro  who  lay  on  the  floor  with  his  feet  to  the  fireplace  in 
which  there  was  a  fire  burning.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  pure 
African,  born  in  Africa,  and  I  could  not  get  much  out  of  him; 
in  fact,  could  not  understand  much  of  his  jargon.  While  try- 
ing to  talk  with  this  man,  two  other  negroes  came  in,  who  had 
been  out  hunting.  From  them,  I  learned  that  the  plantation 

belonged  to  Captain ;  that  he  was  suspected  of  being  a 

Union  man;  that  he  had  sold  all  his  slaves  before  the  war  be- 
gan, and  that  he  was  originally  from  the  state  of  Maine;  had 
been  captain  of  a  vessel  engaged  in  shipping;  owned  the  plan- 
tation, and  was  working  it  with  hired  negroes;  also  that  there 
was  a  small  fort  just  across  the  inlet  or  stream,  and  some 
rebel  soldiers  there. 

Pondering  these  things,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  do 
to  trust  this  white  man.  So  I  went  to  his  house  and  rapped  on 
his  door.  At  first  1  got  no  answer.  Rapping  harder,  some 
one  called  out,  "Who's  there?"  I  replied,  "I  am  a  stranger 
and  want  to  see  Mr.  -  — ."  I  listened  with  my  ear  at  the 
door,  heard  him  get  up  and  dress,  and  thought  I  heard  him 
getting  down  a  gun.  Anyway,  my  courage  failed  me  as  I 
thought  of  the  fix  I  would  be  in  if  he  should  open  the  door 
gun  in  hand.  In  that  case,  it  would  be  all  right  if  he  turned 
out  to  be  a  Union  man,  and  all  wrong  otherwise.  And  just 
then,  it  occurred  to  me  that  a  Union  man  would  not  have  been 
permitted  to  remain  alive  in  that  country,  and  that  I  did  n't 
want  to  see  a  man  that  was  so  long  getting  ready  to  open  his 
door.  When  he  did  open  it,  I  was  not  there,  I  had  changed 
my  mind  and  was  making  double-quick  time  for  a  bridge  that 
the  darkies  said  crossed  the  stream  some  miles  up  from  that 
place.  Their  direction  was  to  take  the  main  road  until  I  came 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  161 

to  a  road  turning  off  to  the  right.  I  did  so,  and  after  follow- 
ing the  road  that  turned  off  to  the  right  two  or  three  miles,  it 
gave  out  and  I  found  it  to  be  only  a  wood  road.  Retracing 
my  steps,  I  got  into  the  main  road  and  followed  it  to  where  a 
second  road  turned  off  to  the  right ;  followed  that  two  or  three 
miles  with  the  same  success  as  before,  and  when  I  got  back 
to  the  main  road  again,  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  I  was  still 
in  sight  of  that  plantation.  In  fact,  was  on  a  part  of  it,  and 
looking  through  the  cracks  of  a  log  house,  saw  two  negro 
women  sleeping  on  the  floor,  and  one  up  cooking  breakfast. 

Being  tired  and  hungry,  I  asked  the  woman  to  let  me  in. 
She  objected  at  first,  but  when  I  told  her  I  was  a  Union  sol- 
dier escaped  from  prison,  she  unlocked  the  door  and  let  me 
in.  I  told  her  I  had  been  traveling  all  night  and  would  like 
something  to  eat.  I  wish  I  could  repeat  verbatim  all  that 
woman  said.  Her  home  was  in  Georgia,  where  she  had  a  family 
of  children  from  whom  she  had  been  taken  and  sent  as  a  hired 
hand  to  work  on  this  plantation.  Her  whole  soul  was  up  in 
arms  against  the  whole  white  race.  She  give  me  something  to 
eat!  No;  if  one  mouthful  of  her  bread  would  keep  every 
white  man  on  earth  from  starving,  she  wouldn't  give  it.  I 
asked  her  why  she  had  let  me  in,  and  tried  to  explain  that  I 
was  a  Union  soldier,  and  that  Union  soldiers  were  friends  of 
the  slaves.  No  use.  She  had  let  me  in  because  she  wanted 
a  chance  to  speak  her  mind  to  a  white  man,  whom  she  had  no 
cause  to  fear;  and  she  improved  the  opportunity  by  cursing 
and  emptying  the  vials  of  her  wrath  on  me  as  a  substitute  for 
the  whole  white  race.  Hers  was  the  most  cutting  abuse  I 
ever  heard  from  human  tongue,  and  withal,  she  displayed 
facility  in  the  use  of  words,  and  a  kind  of  rude  eloquence.  I 
offered  to  pay  her  for  something  to  eat.  She  would  rather 


1 62  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

turn  a  white  man  from  her  door  hungry  than  to  have  all  the 
money  on  earth.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  going  to  tell  her 
master  that  I  had  been  there?  No,  she  wouldn't  do  anything 
to  please  her  master,  and  receiving  this  assurance,  I  was  glad 
to  be  turned  hungry  from  her  door.  She  was  the  only  one  of 
the  race  I  ever  applied  to  in  vain  for  assistance. 

I  had  until  this  time  avoided  traveling  alone  by  day,  but 
now  saw  no  way  of  finding  and  crossing  the  bridge  except  by 
daylight.  After  resting  and  sleeping  awhile  in  the  woods,  I 
started  again  to  find  the  bridge.  Where  there  was  timber  on 
both  sides  of  the  road,  I  followed  the  road  walking  in  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  watching  warily,  and  ready  to  hide  behind  trees 
should  I  meet  or  see  anyone.  About  noon,  I  met  a  negro 
boy  and  asked  him  about  roads,  plantations,  negroes,  and  such 
things  as  I  wanted  to  know,  without  telling  him  who  I  was. 
I  made  a  blunder  in  saying  to  him  as  he  rode  away,  not  to  tell 
any  white  man  that  he  -had  seen  me.  Now,  it  happened  that 
I  was  passing  through  that  neighborhood,  or  trying  to  pass 
through,  on  the  very  day  set  by  the  planters  for  a  grand  hunt 
with  dogs  and  guns,  after  a  lot  of  rebel  deserters  who  infested 
the  region,  concealing  themselves  in  swamps  by  day,  and  prey- 
ing on  pig-pens,  hen-roosts,  and  what  ever  else  they  could 
steal  by  night.  The  negroes  were  not  more  friendly  to  this 
class  of  marauders  than  the  whites  were.  The  negro  boy  I 
talked  with  took  me  for  one  of  these  deserters,  and  immedi- 
ately rode  to  where  his  master  and  other  white  men  had  as- 
sembled, and  put  them  on  my  track. 

Near  where  I  met  the  boy,  there  was  a  log  house  in  the 
middle  of  a  corn  field.  The  boy  told  me  it  was  an  old 
negro's  quarter.  When  the  boy  was  out  of  sight,  I  went 
into  a  school  house  near  the  road  on  my  right  and  there  left 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  163 

my  overcoat,  and  a  little  bundle,  in  which  I  had  some  fat  bacon 
and  some  raw  sweet  potatoes,  concealed  under  a  desk.  I  then 
crossed  the  road  and  went  to  this  negro  quarter.  The  old 
negro  had  seen  me  meet  the  boy,  and  he  was  much  alarmed 
when  I  told  him  my  story.  He  feared  the  boy  would  report 
me.  He  gave  me  some  raw  fish  and  bread  and  a  little  fire 
between  two  pieces  of  bark,  and  directed  me  to  a  place  in 
the  swamp  across  the  field  where  I  could,  he  thought,  build  a 
small  fire  and  not  be  found  unless  the  dogs  should  take  my 
track,  in  which  case  he  said  I  should  be  sure  to  be  caught 
whether  I  stopped  or  not.  He  did  not  think  the  dogs  would 
follow  a  white  man's  track. 

I  built  a  small  fire  and  roasted  my  fish,  which  were  from 
the  salt  water,  mullets,  I  think,  and  the  finest  fish  I  ever 
tasted.  Dinner  over,  I  took  a  nap,  and,  when  I  awoke,  started 
back  to  the  negro  hut,  but  not  following  the  path  by  which  I 
had  come.  The  old  man  saw  me  coming  and  met  me  in  the 
corn.  He  was  the  most  complete  picture  of  fright  that  you 
can  possibly  imagine.  His  hair  literally  stood  straight  up, 
woolly  hair  at  that.  His  teeth  chattered  and  his  black  face 
seemed  to  be  an  ash  color.  He  was  so  much  agitated  that  at 
first  I  could  not  understand  his  rapidly  uttered  jargon.  Fin- 
ally, he  made  me  understand  that  the  white  men  were  after 
me,  had  been  to  his  house,  and  were  on  my  track  into  the 
woods.  He  wanted  me  to  go  with  him  and  give  myself  up. 
"Oh,  Massa,"  he  said,  "if  da'  don't  ketch  you,  da'  skin  dis 
nigga  alive.  Da'  done  tie  dis  nigga  up  an  whip  him  to  def." 
I  quieted  his  fears  as  much  as  I  could,  and  hastened  across 
the  cornfield  to  the  school-house.  My  coat  and  bundle  were 
gone.  I  surmised  that  the  dogs  not  being  trained  for  that 
purpose,  would  not  track  a  white  man,  and  that  it  would  be 


1 64  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

better  to  hide  than  to  travel  and  take  chances  of  being  seen. 

Not  far  off  there  was  an  abandoned  field  with  deep  gul- 
lies washed  through,  and  in  the  gullies  and  on  their  sides  a 
thick  matting  of  blackberry  briers,  vines,  and  brush.  I  made 
my  way  to  this  field,  taking  care  to  leave  no  tracks  that  could 
be  seen,  and  hid  in  one  of  the  ravines.  There,  I  could  plainly 
hear  the  tooting  of  horns  and  the  sound  of  voices  calling  to  the 
hounds.  The  negro  was  right;  the  hounds  were  not  trained 
for  white  man's  track. 

I  started  again  about  midnight,  moving  stealthily  through 
woods  and  fields  on  a  line  with  the  road.  In  about  two  hours, 
I  reached  the  river  again  that  I  wanted  to  cross.  I  knew  the 
bridge  was  near,  but  I  feared  a  guard  might  be  there,  and  I 
made  a  bundle  of  my  clothes,  intending  to  tie  them  on 
top  of  my  head,  and  swim  across.  As  I  sat  on  the  bank  in  the 
moonlight  wondering  if  I  could  swim  well  enough  to  reach  the 
other  shore,  I  saw  something  disturb  the  water;  a  large  fish  or 
an  alligator.  All  thought  of  getting  into  that  water  vanished. 
I  put  on  my  clothes  and  crept  cautiously  from  tree  to 
tree,  along  the  bank,  until  I  could  see  the  bridge.  I 
crawled  up  close  to  it  and  watched  and  listened.  I 
lay  there  half  an  hour  or  more.  I  could  neither  hear 
nor  see  anything  to  indicate  that  a  guard  was  there.  Think- 
ing that  if  there  should  be  a  guard  there,  it  would  be  better 
for  me  to  be  stopped  walking  carelessly  along  than  to  be 
caught  trying  to  slip  over,  especially  as  I  meant  to  play  the 
furlough  dodge  if  I  should  be  taken,  I  slipped  back  into  the 
woods,  stepped  into  the  road  some  distance  from  the  bridge, 
and  came  whistling  along  to  the  bridge.  Was  half  way  over 
and  breathing  freer,  when  a  boy  stepped  from  behind  a  large 
tree  in  front  of  me,  and  called  out,  "  Halt ! "  He  was  but 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  165 

twenty  rods  away,  and  I  could  see  plainly  that  he  was  a  mere 
boy,  but  he  held  a  dangerous  weapon,  a  double-barreled  shot- 
gun. I  could  see  that  both  barrels  were  cocked,  and  that  boy  or 
no  boy,  he  meant  business.  "  Well,  my  boy,"  I  said,  "What  do 
you  want?"  "About,  face!"  "You  must  be  a  raw  recruit," 
I  said.  "You  ought  to  say,  'Who  goes  there!'  if  I  say, 
'Friend!'  then  you  should  say,  'Advance  and  give  the  count- 
ersign!" "You  about  face,"  said  he,  "or  I'll  shoot!"  and 
he  leveled  his  gun.  There  was  no  other  way  to  do,  and  I 
turned  around.  "Forward,  march! "  was  his  next  command. 
I  tried  to  talk  to  him  and  get  him  to  look  at  my  furlough,  but 
he  would  have  none  of  it,  and  answered  nothing,  except 
"Forward  march!"  and  "Go  right  along,  or  I'll  shoot!"  And 
forward  march,  it  was;  captured  by  a  fourteen-year-old  boy 
that  I  could  have  dropped  over  the  bridge  with  one  hand, 
could  I  have  prevailed  on  him  to  come  within  my  reach.  We 
marched  back  about  half  a  mile,  the  boy  keeping  well  behind 
with  cocked  gun,  when  we  met  his  brother-in-law,  on  horse- 
back, coming  to  relieve  him.  The  brother-in-law  was  a  lieu- 
tenant of  artillery,  and  at  home  on  a  furlough.  They  marched 
me  back  to  their  father's  house  which  was  near  where  I  had 
been  hunted  the  day  before.  On  the  way,  I  learned  that  they 
took  me  for  a  deserter,  and  that  when  the  crowd  gathered  the 
next  day  I  was  liable  to  be  hung,  or  whipped  severely  at  the 
best,  and  sent  to  the  front.  Under  these  circumstances,  I 
thought  it  best  to  show  my  colors,  so  I  told  them  I  was  a  pris- 
oner of  war  trying  to  escape.  When  we  got  into  the  house,  I 
was  given  a  seat  near  the  fire-place  and  managed  to  slip  my 
furlough  into  the  fire  without  being  seen. 

It  was  hard  to  make  these  people  believe  that  I  was  a 
Union  soldier.     They  said  I  talked  and  looked  like  a  South- 


1 66  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

erner.  I  told  them  it  was  easy  enough  for  me  to  talk  and 
act  like  a  southern  man,  because  my  parents  were  Kentuck- 
ians,  and  both  my  grandfathers,  Virginians,  and  that  when  I 
tried  to  play  the  rebel  soldier,  as  I  was  trying  until  they  talked 
about  ropes  and  whips,  all  I  had  to  do,  was  to  fall  back  on  my 
mother  tongue. 

The  owner  of  this  place  was  an  ideal  southern  man,  man- 
ners, chivalry  and  all.  He  scouted  the  idea  of  mistreating  a 
prisoner.  "This  young  man,"  said  he,  "was  a  gentleman  at 
home,  and  in  my  house  he  shall  be  treated  as  a  guest."  There 
were  in  the  family,  two  daughters,  two  sons,  and  the  son-in- 
law  who  was  at  home  on  a  furlough. 

When  breakfast  time  came,  these  young  people  seemed 
to  object  to  eating  at  the  same  table  with  a  Yankee  soldier. 
"Then  turn  him  loose,"  said  the  old  man.  "No  white  man 
whose  ancestors  are  from  Kentucky  and  Virginia  shall  be 
forced  to  sit  here  while  we  eat,  and  not  be  offered  a  seat  at 
the  table."  I  tried  to  make  some  excuse,  not  caring  to  sit  at 
a  table  where  there  were  those  who  objected,  but  the  old 
gentleman  would  take  no  excuses.  "If  you  were  my  boy," 
he  said,  "you  would  be  in  the  rebel  army.  You  live  in  the 
North,  and  you  would  be  a  traitor  to  your  home  if  you  were 
not  on  the  Union  side." 

After  breakfast,  my  boy  captor  was  sent  on  a  horse  to  the 
fort  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  brought  back  two  soldiers  who 
took  me  to  the  fort.  The  next  day  was  Sunday  and  hundreds 
of  people,  both  white  and  black,  came  to  take  their  first  look 
at  a  Yankee  soldier.  I  was  kept  there  several  days,  and  then 
sent  along  with  several  guards  and  some  loaded  wagons  to 
Whiteville,  a  place  on  the  railroad  between  Florence  and  Wil- 
mington. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  167 

We  arrived  at  this  place  on  Saturday  morning  after  the 
train  to  Florence  had  passed  and  I  had  to  remain  until  Men- 
day,  and  was  turned  over  to  the  provost  marshal.  This  gen- 
tleman treated  me  very  kindly,  walked  around  the  town  with 
me  for  awhile,  and  took  me  to  his  house  to  tea. 

When  night  came,  however,  he  said  he  would  have  to  lock 
me  up  in  the  county  jail.  I  objected  to  this,  and  tried  hard  to 
persuade  him  to  either  put  a  guard  over  me,  or  take  my 
parole  of  honor  and  keep  me  at  his  house.  He  would  not 
yield,  and  into  the  jail,  behind  the  bars  of  a  common  felon's 
cell,  I  had  to  go.  It  had  been  humiliating  to  be  captured  by 
a  fourteen-year-old  boy ;  to  be  locked  in  a  felon's  cell,  although 
charged  with  no  crime,  broke  me  all  up;  I  felt  that  it  was  a 
disgrace;  I  lay  down  on  the  straw  mattress  in  the  cell  and 
cried  like  a  child. 

The  next  morning  when  the  jailor  came  in  with  food  for 
the  prisoners,  he  laid  on  a  mantel,  separated  by  the  corridor 
from  my  cell,  a  fine  butcher  knife.  It  was  about  six  feet  from 
the  bars  of  my  cage.  It  would,  I  thought,  be  a  fine  prize  if  I 
could  get  it  and  take  it  with  me  back  to  prison.  The  only 
articles  in  my  cell  were  the  mattress,  and  a  southern  substitute 
for  a  broom.  This  was  made  of  a  bunch  of  some  kind  of  long 
grass,  the  butts  wound  with  a  cord,  forming  the  handle,  the 
tops  forming  the  broom.  Grasping  this  by  the  tops  of  the 
straws,  I  could  reach  through  the  bars  and  touch  the  knife. 
Working  the  knife  around  until  the  point  was  towards  me, 
and  the  end  of  the  handle  against  the  wall,  I  pushed  the  handle 
of  the  broom  against  the  point  of  the  knife  until  I  had  it  fast, 
then  drew  it  into  the  cell.  When  the  jailor  came  along,  the 
bunch  of  straw  was  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  cell,  the  knife 
concealed  in  it,  and  I  was  innocently  eating  my  breakfast. 


1 68  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

"I  left  a  knife  on  that  mantel,  who  took  it?"  he  said.  I  looked 
up.  "Who  took  that  knife?"  "I  am  sure  there  has  been  no 
one  there  since  you  passed,"  I  replied.  He  went  back  and 
searched;  came  again,  looked  into  my  cell,  tried  the  door  of 
the  corridor,  and  found  it  locked  as  he  left  it.  He  remarked 
to  me,  "  You  could  n't  get  that  knife  if  I  did  leave  it  there,  I 
must  have  taken  it  with  me,  and  some  of  them  damn  niggers 
have  got  it."  The  other  prisoners  were  all  negroes.  He 
went  back  and  searched  again,  then  went  out,  saying  that  he 
either  left  that  knife  outside,  or  else  the  jail  was  haunted. 

I  was  taken  out  on  Monday  and  conveyed  on  the  cars 
to  Florence,  where  I  was  searched  before  being  sent  to  the 
stockade,  and  the  knife  found.  I  told  the  officer  who  found 
it,  where  and  how  I  got  it,  and  asked  him  to  return  it  to  that 
jailor  with  my  compliments. 

Here  let  me  remark,  that  from  the  time  I  was  recaptured 
in  North  Carolina,  until  I  was  delivered  back  at  Florence,  I 
saw  and  talked  with  many  people,  both  soldiers  and  citizens, 
and  received  only  such  treatment  as  a  soldier  taken  in  honor- 
able warfare  ought  to  receive  at  the  hands  of  his  captors, 
except,  perhaps,  being  put  in  a  felon's  cell,  which  may  have 
been  a  matter  of  necessity,  rather  than  intentional  degrada- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ANOTHER     STOCKADE A     MEANER     MAN     THAN     WIRZ OUT 

ON     PAROLE THE     SMUGGLED     STEER NOTES     FROM     A 

DIARY. 

The  return  to  a  stockade,  I  had  very  much  dreaded,  be- 
cause I  supposed  I  would  have  to  endure  tortures  similar  to 
those  to  which  escaped  prisoners  brought  back  at  Andersonville 
were  subjected.  Whatever  of  fortitude  I  possessed  was  not 
of  the  kind  that  enables  a  man  to  endure  physical  pain.  I  was 
9  agreeably  surprised  on  reaching  the  prison,  to  find  that  to  be 
hand-cuffed,  and  my  hand-cuffs  fastened  to  those  of  five  or  six 
other  prisoners  and  to  remain  in  this  somewhat  uncomfortable 
position  forty-eight  hours  without  food,  was  the  only  punish- 
ment I  was  to  receive.  That  was  so  much  milder  than  I  ex- 
pected, that  it  really  seemed  no  punishment  at  all. 

The  forty-eight  hours  having  expired,  one,  Lieutenant 
Barrett,  came  to  release  us  and  turn  us  into  the  stockade. 
He  was  a  brute  and  a  coward.  Noticing  my  gray  jacket,  he 
swore  that  no  damn  Yankee  should  disgrace  the  uniform  of 
South  Carolina.  I  remarked  that  it  was  cold  weather  to  wear 
nothing  but  a  shirt.  "  Come  with  me,"  he  said  with  brutal 
oaths,  "I'll  get  a  coat  for  you."  He  led  me  to  the  dead 
house,  a  kind  of  shed  made  with  forks  and  poles,  and  covered 
and  enclosed  with  brush. 

There  were  several  corpses  in  there,  each  having  on  an 


170  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

old  pair  of  drawers  or  ragged  pants  and  a  worn-out  blue 
blouse.  "There,"  he  said,  "Go  in  there  and  get  a  uniform; 
those  Yanks  are  in  hell  already  and  don't  need  any  clothes." 
I  told  him  that  I  would  rather  get  along  without  any  coat  than 
to  take  one  from  a  dead  body.  "  None  of  your  talk  to  me !" 
he  replied,  "Go  in  there  and  get  one  of  those  blouses."  He 
drew  and  cocked  his  revolver  as  he  spoke.  To  take  a  coat 
from  a  cold,  stiff  corpse,  was  'no  easy  task.  I  finally  got  one 
off;  the  inside  was  white  in  places  with  lice.  The  sight  of  it 
made  me  sick.  "Put  it  on!"  he  roared.  I  held  it  up  and 
said,  "  Lieutenant,  look  at  it,  let  me  have  a  chance  to  clean  it 
first?"  I  stood  in  reach  of  him,  and  the  thought  that  I  could 
knock  him  down  and  run  came  into  my  mind  just  as  a  rebel 
sergeant  who  stood  near  and  who  had  on  a  blue  jacket  spoke 
up  and  said:  "See  here,  lieutenant,  let  me  take  that  gray 
jacket  and  give  the  Yank  this  blue  one.  I'd  like  mighty  well 
to  make  such  a  trade."  The  brute  evidently  did  not  like  to 
have  a  witness  to  his  intended  and  needless  brutality,  and  he 
reluctantly  yielded. 

All  survivors  of  Florence  will  remember  that  Barrett. 
They  hated  him  worse,  if  anything,  than  they  ever  did  Wirz. 
He  seemed  to  take  delight  in  subjecting  prisoners  to  every 
kind  of  insult,  humiliation,  and  cruelty,  whenever  he  could  find 
or  make  an  excuse  for  doing  so.  It  was  well  for  us  that  he 
was  not  in  full  charge,  as  Wirz  had  been. 

The  Florence  stockade  was  the  old  Andersonville  stock- 
ade duplicated.  It  was  built  the  same  way,  the  same  dead- 
line, the  lay  of  land,  creek,  and  swamp,  all  the  same.  It  con- 
tained about  twelve  acres,  and  about  12,000  prisoners.  The 
new  prisoners  brought  there  thought  it  a  horrible  place,  but 
those  from  Andersonville,  did  not  complain.  They  had  gone 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  171 

in  when  there  were  boughs  and  brush  enough  to  enable  them 
to  build  little  huts,  and  they  knew  how.  The  rations  were  the 
same  in  quantity,  but  better  in  quality.  They  were  issued 
raw,  and  wood  furnished  to  cook  with.  Some  clothing  and 
blankets,  though  not  nearly  enough  to  go  round,  were  sent 
by  some  sanitary  relief  committee  from  the  North,  and  dis- 
tributed. It  was  said  that  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  pair  of 
blankets  were  sent  for  every  man,  but  not  one-tenth  of  that 
amount  was  distributed  to  the  prisoners.  Colonel  Iverson, 
who  was  in  command  at  Florence,  although  a  strict  disciplin- 
arian, was,  I  believe,  a  gentleman  at  heart.  He  seemed  to  do 
as  well  by  us  as  circumstances  would  permit,  and  so  far  as  I 
know,  was  never  charged  with  personal  cruelty. 

On  being  turned  into  the  stockade,  I  was  taken  into  a 
shanty  by  two  of  the  boys  from  my  regiment  who  had  kept 
the  blankets  and  cooking  outfit  that  I  had  left  when  I  got 
away.  Life  with  me  for  a  few  weeks  was  again  about  the 
same  as  at  Andersonville,  except  that  I  had  some  money  and 
could  piece  out  my  scanty  rations  and  not  actually  suffer  from 
hunger.  Money  among  the  prisoners  had  become  scarce,  and 
consequently,  trade  was  neither  brisk  nor  profitable.  I  tried 
keeping  a  stand  but  could  not  make  anything  out  of  it. 

One  morning  an  officer  came  in  to  get  fifty  prisoners  to 
go  out  on  parole  of  honor  and  chop  wood  for  the  prison.  I 
had  never  chopped  a  cord  of  wood  in  my  life,  but  wanted  to  be 
in  the  fresh  air,  so  I  managed  to  get  taken  out  as  a  chopper. 
We  were  taken  to  the  front  of  the  colonel's  tent.  Our  names 
taken,  we  held  up  our  hands  and  took  an  oath  that  we  would 
not  violate  our  parole  by  going  over  a  certain  distance  from 
the  prison,  nor  by  failing  to  return  at  the  proper  time  every 
night.  We  were  furnished  with  axes  and  sent  to  the  woods, 


172  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

The  men  divided  into  pairs,  each  pair  had  to  cut  two 
cords  per  day;  the  timber  to  be  cut  was  on  some  swampy 
land  about  half  a  mile  from  the  prison.  I  happened  to  be 
paired  with  a  man  from  Maine,  a  thorough  woodsman  and  a 
good  chopper.  He  soon  discovered  that  I  could  n't  chop. 
My  hands  were  blistered,  and  I  was  completely  tuckered  at 
the  end  of  an  hour.  I  said  to  him :  "  Partner,  you  see  I  can  't 
keep  up  my  end  at  this  work,  but  there  are  persimmons  in 
the  woods  around  here,  and  cornfields  with  beans  in  the  corn. 
I  am  some  on  beans  and  persimmons,  and  if  you  will  do  the 
chopping,  I  will  pile  the  wood  and  divide  persimmons  and 
beans."  He  agreed.  We  had  persimmons  for  dinner  and 
our  pockets  full  of  beans  to  take  back  when  we  went  in  at 
night.  The  officers  soon  got  on  to  the  bean  racket  and 
searched  us  every  night,  taking  everything  of  that  kind  away. 

They  permitted  each  man  to  carry  in  with  him  a  stick  of 
wood  at  night,  and  we  managed  to  get  hollow  logs  to  carry  in 
and  conceal  our  plunder  in  them.  One  evening  they  discovered 
this  game.  We  had  come  to  the  prison  gate,  laid  down  our 
loads  of  wood  in  front  of  the  officers'  tents,  and  were  waiting 
to  get  our  extra  rations  before  going  in.  One  of  the  men 
laid  down  a  long  hollow  stick,  full  of  beans.  One  of  the 
officers  was  out  of  wood,  and  told  his  negro  servant  to  take 
one  of  our  logs.  The  negro  happened  to  take  the  log  that 
had  the  beans,  and  as  he  cut  it,  the  beans  rolled  out  and  the 
officer  saw  them.  After  that,  the  search  at  night  included 
hollow  logs. 

Besides  the  fifty  choppers,  one  man  was  paroled  as  cap- 
tain and  another  as  clerk.  Richard  Wardell  was  the  clerk. 
He  and  myself  had  been  companions  in  daily  rambles  after 
beans  and  persimmons.  In  fact,  our  motto  was :  "  Whatever 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  173 

your  hands  find  to  take,  let  them  take."  One  day  Wardell 
told  me  that  he  had  secured  a  better  job,  and  he  resigned  the 
clerkship  in  my  favor.  At  the  same  time,  he  gave  me  a 
pocket  memoranda  to  keep  the  roll  of  the  choppers  in.  This 
book  and  a  ten  cent  piece  of  script  money  are  my  only  relics 
of  prison  life. 

It  was  now  sometime  in  December.  Commencing  Christ- 
mas, I  kept  a  memoranda  in  this  book,  some  of  which  I 
copy,  because  they  show  prison  life  as  I  saw  it  there. 

"  Dec.  25,  1864.  To-day  is  the  fourth  Christmas  I  have 
spent  away  from  home;  may  it  be  the  last.  The  colonel 
said  that  as  it  was  Sunday  and  Christmas  too,  we  might  have 
holiday  and  not  go  out  to  chop.  Quite  a  favor  indeed,  to  be 
allowed  to  spend  the  principal  holiday  of  the  year  in  the  most 
miserable  hole  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Other  days,  I  go 
out  on  a  parole  of  honor  to  chop  wood  for  the  prison.  There 
are  fifty-two  in  the  chopping  squad,  iucluding  the  captain  of 
the  squad  and  myself.  The  remuneration  we  receive  is  one 
pound  of  meal  or  rice  and  a  half  pound  of  beef  per  day,  which 
it  is  my  duty  to  draw  and  issue  to  the  rest.  The  ration  we 
draw  in  camp  is  one  pound  of  meal  and  a  little  salt,  with  now 
and  then  a  small  quantity  of  beans  or  potatoes.  I  ate  for  break- 
fast to-day,  some  rice  and  potatoes;  for  dinner,  rice  and  meal 
dumplings,  and  will  have  some  supper  if  we  get  rations  to- 
day. Have  just  been  to  the  gate  to  draw  rations,  but  the 
rebels  say  we  cannot  have  any  to-day,  because  we  did  not 
work.  There  is  a  report  here  that  Jeff  Davis  is  dead,  which  is 
generally  believed.  There  were  some  more  galvanized  Yanks 
turned  in  to-day.  They  were  prisoners  who  took  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  the  confederacy  and  went  into  the  rebel  army, 
but  were  so  no-account  that  the  rebels  would  n't  have  them. 


174  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

"  Dec.  26,  1864.  We  are  out  in  the  swamp  to-day.  It 
rained  last  night,  and  the  water  is  so  high  that  the  men  can 
scarcely  work.  It  is  as  warm  here  to-day  as  it  is  in  May  in 
Wisconsin.  From  all  appearances,  our  days  of  confinement 
will  soon  be  over.  It  is  reported  that  Sherman  is  marching 
on  Charleston.  If  he  is,  he  will  surely  take  it,  and  then  it  will 
be  easy  for  him  to  send  a  raid  here  and  release  us. 

"Dec.  2j,  1864.  The  rebs  had  their  flag  pole  raised 
to-day  that  the  Yankee  sailors  have  been  making  for  them. 
They  made  some  of  the  prisoners  raise  it  for  them.  I  think  it 
will  not  be  long  before  there  will  be  a  Yankee  flag  flying  on 
it.  Our  boys  came  a  good  joke  on  them  while  they  were 
having  it  raised,  which  will  not  do  to  be  written.  I  succeeded 
in  getting  Carr  out  to-day  to  make  axe-helves.  He  will  com- 
mence to-morrow." 

The  joke  was  this.  While  the  men  were  chopping  in  the 
swamp,  a  fat  steer  came  trotting  through  the  woods,  and 
scared  by  the  noise  of  the  axes  he  stopped  near  a  tall  Ten- 
nesseean  who  was  standing  on  a  log.  The  Tennesseean 
reached  over  and  tapped  him  behind  the  horns  with  his 
ax.  He  dropped  dead.  We  skinned  and  dressed  him  and 
divided  the  meat  among  the  choppers.  Knowing  that  we 
would  be  searched  at  night,  and  that  hollow  logs  were 
played  out,  I  devised  this  scheme  to  carry  in  the  meat.  The 
former  captain  of  the  squad  had  been  sent  away  with  some  of 
the  sick  who  were  to  be  exchanged,  and  1  had  been  given  his 
place.  I  had  two  or  three  skilful  axemen  prepare  logs  of  ash, 
the  kind  we  usually  carried  in,  and  cut  them  exactly 
alike  at  each  end,  leaving  as  much  uncut  as  could  be  broken. 
When  broken,  the  splintered  part  of  the  ends  wrhere  they 
were  broken,  came  opposite  each  other.  The  logs  were  then 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  175 

carefully  split  so  that  the  splintered  part  of  each  end  was 
divided.  The  two  halves  were  then  hollowed  out,  making  two 
troughs.  These  were  then  filled  with  steer  and  then  the  two 
parts  carefully  put  together  and  fastened  with  small  wedges 
at  the  end,  put  in  across  the  split  end.  We  arranged  enough 
of  these  logs  to  carry  all  the  steer,  except  the  feet,  head,  and 
such  other  parts  as  we  used  for  dinner  that  day.  There  was 
no  sign  of  a  crack  in  these  logs,  and  the  boys  who  carried 
them,  to  prevent  the  discovery  of  the  wedges  that  held  them 
together  at  the  ends,  let  the  ends  down  in  the  muddy  places 
when  they  stopped  to  rest.  We  were  properly  searched  that 
night,  but  the  steer  got  through.  Every  night  after  that  the 
ash  logs,  that  had  been  prepared  to  carry  in  beans,  and  such 
other  things  as  the  boys  secured,  were  laid  in  some  appointed 
place,  and  I  inspected  them,  allowing  none  to  go  in,  unless 
skilfully  prepared.  This  game  was  not  discovered  while  I 
was  there. 

'''•Dec.  28,  1864.  Rained  all  the  forenoon.  The 
boys  wanted  to  go  in.  Colonel  Iverson  said  they  might  go, 
but  they  would  have  to  stay,  and  he  would  get  men  to  chop 
who  could  stand  a  little,  rain.  We  stayed,  and  were  all  soaked 
to  the  skin.  Chopping  wood  in  a  cold  chilly  rain  for  a  pint 
of  corn-meal  a  day  is  tough.  But  a  pint  of  corn-meal,  added 
to  our  prison  ration,  keeps  the  gnawing  wolf,  Hunger,  from 
the  stomach.  Besides,  we  are  allowed  to  take  in,  at  night,  as 
much  wood  as  we  can  carry,  and  what  we  get  by  selling,  or 
trading  our  wood,  added  to  our  double  ration  of  meal,  enables 
us  to  live  quite  comfortably,  as  far  as  food  and  fuel  go.  Like 
kings  compared  to  those,  the  common  herd,  the  15,000  who 
are  trying  to  eke  out  existence  on  a  scant  pint  of  meal  and  a 
small  stick  of  wood  per  day. 


1 76  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

"  We  are  called  the  chopping  squad.  Another  squad, 
called  the  carrying  squad,  200  in  number,  carry  into  the  prison 
the  wood  that  we  chop.  Each  man  has  to  carry  on  his  back 
a  quarter  of  a  cord,  each  day,  of  green  wood  an  average  dis- 
tance of  one-half  mile;  and  much  of  the  way  over  a  bridge, 
made  of  single  foot  logs,  that  crosses  the  swamp.  The  carriers 
are  paid  the  same  as  the  choppers.  They  have  one  sergeant 
in  charge  of  each  hundred;  and  another  to  act  as  commissary; 
That  is,  to  draw  and  issue  the  pint  of  meal  to  each  man ;  and 
another,  called  Captain,  who  commands  the  squad. 

"The  other  day  some  prisoners  managed  to  flank  out  with 
the  carrying  squad  and  escape.  Whether  they  were  aided  or 
not  by  the  captain  and  sergeants  is  not  known,  but  to-day  the 
Captain  and  sergeants  are  in  the  dungeon;  their  men  are  left 
inside,  and  there  is  an  entirely  new  gang  on  the  foot  logs. 
Succeeded  to-day  in  getting  my  friend,  Horace  C.  Carr, 
paroled  to  make  axe  handles  for  our  squad.  He  made  six 
good  handles.  Says  he  can  make  them  faster  when  he  gets 
used  to  having  enough  to  eat. 

'•'•Dec.  29,  1864.  Has  been  a  cold,  windy  day.  The 
'Rebs'  hoisted  their  flag  on  the  new  pole.  Judging  from 
their  actions,  they  cannot  have  much  respect  for,  nor  much 
faith  in  their  cause.  They  stood  around  the  pole  with  their 
hands  in  their  pockets,  and  did  not  say  a  word,  or  offer  to 
cheer  when  the  flag  went  up.  The  Yanks  in  the  stockade 
greeted  it  with  loud  groans  and  hisses.  The  body,  or  main 
part  of  this  flag,  is  white.  In  the  upper  corner,  next  the  pole, 
there  is  a  red  square,  and  across  this  red  square  there  are 
blue  bars  with  white  border.  The  bars  run  from  each  corner 
diagonally,  crossing  in  the  center.  On  the  bars  there  are 
thirteen  stars. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  177 

"  Dec.  jo,  1864.  Has  been  a  pleasant  day,  bright,  and 
balmy,  and  warm.  This  is  the  Sunny  South  that  we  read 
about.  Went  with  Dick  Wardell  on  a  little  ramble  into  the 
country.  Guess  we  stretched  the  limits  of  our  parole. 
Stopped  at  a  house  to  get  a  drink,  and  some  ladies,  who  were 
there,  talked  with  us  quite  a  while,  and  were  very  polite. 
They  asked  us  to  come  again  next  week,  and  bring  a  ring 
that  we  have  to  sell,  and  an  album,  if  we  could  get  one.  We 
promised  to  do  so.  Was  thinking  to-day,  as  we  returned,  how 
much  our  prison  life  resembles  the  life  of  brutes.  The  horse, 
for  instance,  which  is  transferred  from  one  place  to  another, 
and  will  go  to  and  from  each  new  stable,  seldom  making  an 
effort  to  return  to  the  old.  So  with  us.  Separated  from 
friends  and  home,  we  are  moved  about  from  place  to  place, 
and  still,  our  walk  over,  it  seems  perfectly  natural  to  turn 
toward  the  stockade,  where  we  have  not  as  good  as  a  manger 
to  be  stabled  in.  There  is  a  rumor  today  that  we  are  to  be 
moved  to  Columbia.  If  we  are,  I  shall  make  another  attempt 
to  gain  my  liberty.  Would  rather  make  my  escape,  and  get 
to  our  lines  than  receive  a  thousand  dollars  and  be  exchanged. 

"Sat.,  Dec.  j/,  1864.  Cold  and  chilly,  with  some  rain. 
Old  Father  Time  seems  to  be  dragging  a  heavy  load;  he 
moves  so  slow.  Prospects  for  the  new  year,  gloomy  enough. 
Could  we  poor  mortals  but  lift  the  vail  of  uncertainty  that 
seems  to  hang  like  a  pall  between  us  and  the  future,  we 
might  see  beyond,  brighter  and  happier  days;  and  we  might 
see  beyond  (surely,  some  would)  that  which  would  blanch 
the  cheek  with  terror  and  kill  the  little  courage  we  have. 
Better,  perhaps,  the  ills  we  have  than  the  evils  we  know  not 
of.  In  an  uncertain  future  there  is  a  chance  for  hope  at 
least,  to  all.  'The  New  Year  comes  to-night,  mamma,'  and 


I78  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I 

this  will  be  the  fourth  time  it  has  come  and  found  your  boy 
away.  May  God  grant  that  ere  the  close  of  it,  he  may  be 
restored  to  you  and  home. 

"New  Year,  1865.  Fine  morning.  Air  clear  and  cold . 
Ground  frozen.  Last  New  Year's  I  was  in  my  snug  winter 
quarters  at  Vicksburg,  enjoying,  what  I  now  recall  as  the  com- 
forts and  blessings  of  freedom  in  a  civilized  land,  and  what  I 
th  en  considered  the  necessary  hardships  of  a  soldier's  life. 
Thus  'Blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their  flight.' 

"For  dinner  George  and  I  had  a  pot  pie,  made  of  boiled 
beef  and  flour  dumplings.  George,  my  bunk-mate,  is  a  nurse 
in  a  hospital.  He  has  been  getting  flour  for  his  extra  ration. 
I  have  been  getting  beef,  instead  of  meal.  We  have  been  sav- 
ing our  flour  and  beef  for  three  days,  and  we  have  had  for 
this  place  a  grand  dinner.  We  kept  a  blanket  over  the  front 
of  our  mansion  while  we  ate,  so  that  our  hungry  neighbors 
might  not  stare  at  us  with  starving  eyes." 

Here  follows  an  inventory  of  my  worldly  effects,  the 
chief  of  which  was  a  two-dollar  greenback,  then  an  inventory 
of  bad  habits,  the  chief  of  which  was  swearing;  then  moral 
reflections  and  promises  of  reform.  Don't  conclude  from 
this  that  I  was  then  a  democrat. 

"  'Jan.  2,  1865.  Out  with  the  chopping  squad,  as  usual. 
Sold  Brunt's  watch  today,  to  one  of  the  rebel  cavalrymen,  for 
$1.25  in  money  and  $1.15  in  trade. 

"  Jan.  j,  1865.  Lovely  day.  Air  as  soft  and  balmy  as 
a  May  morning  in  God's  country.  Such  days  warm  my  blood, 
and  make  me  feel  cagey.  Have  been  thinking  up  plans  of 
escape  all  day.  Went  over  to  see  the  lady  who  wanted  the 
ring.  She  said  she  had  spent  all  her  money  and  couldn't 
take  it.  Guess  she  isn't  much  of  a  lady,  after  all.  Believe 
she  is  a  kind  of  a  camp-follower. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  179 

"The  fine  weather  has  had  a  bad  effect  on  the  paroled 
men.  Thirteen  of  them  skipped  out  today.  One  of  them, 
James  Coon,  belonged  to  our  squad.  I  expect  we  will  all  lose 
our  job." 

The  James  Coon,  mentioned  above,  was  one  of  the  party 
with  whom  I  was  handcuffed  when  I  was  brought  back,  after 
my  first  attempt  to  escape.  He  had  been  trying  for  several 
days  to  induce  me  to  run  away  with  him,  in  violation  of  our 
parole  of  honor.  Although  I  was  always  thinking  and  planning 
escape  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  violating  a  parole.  Techni- 
cally and  literally  considered,  I  had  never  been  paroled. 
When  the  chopping  squad  was  first  called  for,  and  taken  out 
to  be  paroled,  the  rebel  officer,  who  had  charge  of  the  matter, 
formed  us  in  double  line,  and  then  proceeded  to  take  down 
each  man's  name.  He  wrote  one  or  two  names,  and  then  to 
expediate  matters,  called  for  one  of  us  to  do  the  job  of  writing. 
Several  of  us  stepped  out,  and  I  was  chosen.  I  stood  beside 
the  officer  and  wrote  each  name  that  was  given  him  and 
repeated  to  me.  When  the  role  was  complete  he  ordered  the 
men  in  the  line  to  hold  up  each  his  right  hand,  and  take  an 
oath,  called  the  parole  of  honor.  I  stood  beside  the  officer,  fac- 
ing the  prisoners,  and  did  not  hold  up  my  hand;  did  not  think 
of  it  at  the  time,  and  the  officer  did  not  notice  me.  Hence,  I 
was  not,  in  fact,  paroled.  Coon  knew  of  it,  and  used  that  as 
an  argument  to  persuade  me  to  go  with  him.  Whether  it  is 
justifiable  under  any  cir  cumstances,  for  a  man  to  violate  such 
an  oath  of  honor  in  order  to  escape  from  captors,  is  a  moral 
problem  not  easy  of  solution.  Of  course,  if  prisoners-of-war 
were  receiving  honorable  treatment  there  could  be  no  excuse 
or  justification  for  one  who  would  violate  a  parole,  voluntarily 
taken.  But  just  how  much  unnecessary,  unjustifiable,  and 


i8o  THE  SMOKED   TANK. 

unusual  cruelty  a  man  must  suffer,  before  he  would  be  justified 
in  breaking  a  parole  to  get  away,  that  is  a  question.  'Thou 
shalt  not  kill,'  is  a  command  of  God,  and  a  law  of  every 
civilized  people.  But  in  no  civilized  nation  is  a  man  required 
to  lose  his  own  life  rather  than  to  take  that  of  his  assailant. 

Coon  started  soon  after  we  got  into  the  woods  that 
morning.  I  was  at  that  time  Captain  of  the  chopping  squad. 
As  Coon  had  confided  his  plans  to  me  I  could  not  betray  him, 
although  I  knew  that  his  going  would,  in  all  probability,  result 
in  all  the  rest  of  us  losing  our  places.  That  meant  more  than 
the  loss  of  a  pint  of  meal  a  day;  it  meant  that  we  must  stay 
in  the  stockade,  with  the  rest  of  the  prisoners,  and  live  on  a 
pint  of  meal  a  day.  It  diminished  the  chances  for  life  to  all 
of  us.  None  of  the  choppers,  except  myself,  knew  that  he 
was  going.  He  was  not  missed  until  the  noon  roll-call,  which 
I  was  required  to  make  each  day.  Then  the  boys  supposed 
he  had  gone  after  beans,  or  persimmons.  About  2  o'clock  I 
went  to  Colonel  Iverson's  quarters,  and  told  him  that  one  of 
my  men  was  missing  at  roll-call.  Coon  had  consented  that  I 
should  report  him  at  that  time,  in  ordei",  if  possible,  to  save 
myself  from  the  dungeon,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  from  being 
left  inside.  My  diary  discloses  the  result. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PAROLE    OF    HONOR    PLAYED    OUT A    SCHEME    FOR    ESCAPE  — 

ALL    IS    FAIR     IN     LOVE     AND    WAR BRIBING    A    YANKEE 

WITH  A  REBEL'S  MONEY  —  i  GO  AFTER  SHAKES  AND  DO 

NOT    RETURN. 

"  Jan.  4,  1865.  Weather  fine  to-day,  but  it  rained  last 
night,  giving  the  boys  who  ran  away,  a  good  chance  to  elude 
the  dogs.  Our  squad  was  not  taken  out  today.  None  of  the 
paroled  men  went  out.  George  will  sleep  at  the  hospital 
hereafter,  and  I  will  be  alone  in  the  shanty.  Lost  $20  of 
confederate  money  last  night.  It  must  have  been  stolen. 

"  Had  a  very  strange  dream.  Thought  I  had,  in  some 
way,  escaped  and  got  home.  When  I  entered  the  house  all 
our  family,  and  uncle's  family,  and  many  of  the  young  people 
of  the  neighborhood  were  there.  They  all  gathered  around 
me  and  began  to  talk,  and  tried  to  shake  hands  with  me,  but  I 
pushed  them  all  aside,  and  ran  to  mother  and  kissed  her,  and 
was  so  overcome  with  joy  that  I  lay  my  head  in  her  lap  and 
wept  for  a  long  time.  Then  I  shook  hands  with  the  rest, 
telling  them  it  was  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  It  would 
have  been. 

"  Jan.  5,  1865.  Parole  of  honor  played  out.  New 
squads  are  being  organized.  None  of  the  old  hands  are 
allowed  to  go.  Colonel  Iverson  came  in  to  see  about  the  new 
men  for  parole.  I  asked  him  to  let  me  have  charge  of  the 


i82  THE    SMOKED  TANK. 

choppers  again.  He  refused,  but  said  I  might  go  as  a 
chopper,  if  I  liked.  I  told  him '  that  I  could  not  chop  a  cord 
of  wood  a  day,  and  that  if  he  did  not  let  me  out  as  before,  I 
would  try  to  escape.  He  said :  '  All  right,  my  boy,  you  are 
welcome  to  try.'" 

I  did  try.  Although  I  wrote  memoranda  each  day  I 
could  not  write  everything,  for  fear  that  if  I  should  escape  I 
might  be  captured  with  the  book  upon  me. 

'•'•'Jan.  6,  1865.  The  'Rebs'  took  out  the  new  squads 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  three  of  the  prisoners  ran  away. 
They  do  not  take  any  out  today  on  account  of  the  rain,  they 
say.  I  have  a  kind  of  presentiment  that  a  change,  for  better 
or  for  worse,  is  about  to  take  place  in  my  fortunes.  Am 
afraid  it  is  for  the  worse.  Misfortunes  never  come  singly, 
they  say,  and  they  seem  to  have  begun  coming  to  me  when  I 
lost  my  job  outside. 

"  Jan.  7,  1865.  No  better  prospects,  as  yet,  for  the 
future,  though  there  is  considerable  talk  of  'general  ex- 
change.' Have  been  thinking  of  trying  to  get  out  of  this 
infernal  hole.  If  I  could  get  out  on  parole  to  work,  could  stay 
more  contentedly,  but  I  can 't  stand  the  pressure  here.  George 
has  been  sick,  and  is  now  a  patient  in  the  hospital. 

"  Jan.  8,  1865.  Ten  months  a  prisoner.  Air,  going  to 
try  to  get  out  the  first  dark  night. 

"  Jan.  p,  1865.  Nothing  particular  transpired  today. 
Tried  to  get  the  lieutenant  to  let  me  out  on  parole  again,  but 
he  would  not,  and  so  I  picked  out  a  place  to  climb  over  the 
stockade." 

The  truth  is  that  while  I  was  out  on  parole  I  had  studied 
out  a  plan  for  escape,  and  had  been  busy  working  on  it  from 
the  day  my  parole  ceased.  I  had  noticed  that  some  of  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  183 

paroled  men  who  worked  in  the  hospital,  and  about  the  com- 
missary department  of  the  prison,  helping  to  carry  in  and  issue 
the  rations,  and  to  do  other  work  that  required  them  to  pass 
out  and  in  frequently,  were  provided  with  passes.  I  had 
noticed  these  passes,  and  believed  I  could  make  one  that 
would  let  me  pass  an  ordinary  guard,  especially  after  dark. 
The  passes  were  written  in  ink,  on  the  face,  in  a  hand  easily 
imitated,  and  were  stamped  on  the  back  with  a  red  ink  stamp. 
My  plan  was  to  intimate  the  hand- writing  on  the  front 
and  make  a  stamp  on  the  back  with  a  red  pencil.  The  first 
thing  to  do  was  to  get  the  pencil.  I  thought  that  among 
fifteen  thousand  Yankee  prisoners,  I  could  either  find  one  or 
get  it  made.  So  I  began  to  inquire  for  one.  Soon  found  that 
it  would  be  hard  to  find,  so  I  began  systematically  to  inquire, 
going  through  the  whole  of  one  thousand  or  detachment 
before  trying  the  next.  On  the  second  day,  I  found  a  man 
who  had  a  short  red  pencil  and  secured  it.  Then  I  had  to  get 
some  one  who  had  a  pass,  to  lend  it  to  me  so  that  I  could 
learn  to  intimate  it.  My  recollection  is  that  I  got  my  friend 
Wardell  to  get  a  pass  for  me.  Do  not  remember  whether  I 
told  him  what  I  wanted  to  do  or  not.  Anyway  I  had  one  of 
the  genuine  passes  and  set  about  learning  to  counterfeit.  I 
began  first  on  the  stamp  and  have  now  in  my  note  book  from 
which  these  memoranda  are  copied,  my  first  effort  to  make 
the  stamp.  It  is  in  this  form  but  in  red: 


Cheatham  was   the  name  of  one  of  the    rebel    officers. 
While  I   sat  in  my  shebang,  as  we  called  it,  at  work  on  this 


184  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

stamp,  it  occurred  to  me  that  some  man  among  those  who  had 
such  passes  might  be  induced  to  let  me  use  a  pass  to  get  out 
with  and  then  send  it  in  by  some  other  man. 

I  knew  of  no  man  who  had  such  a  pass  who  would  be 
likely  to  trust  a  stranger  with  it.  No  one  with  whom  I  was 
on  terms  of  intimacy  had  one,  and  to  ask  a  stranger  to  do  for 
me  what  might  cost  him  his  life,  seemed  to  be  useless.  I  had 
nothing  to  offer  as  a  bribe,  except  a  few  dollars  in  confed.,  as 
we  called  the  rebel  money.  My  only  friend  in  the  camp  who 
had  money,  was  Wardell.  The  moment  I  thought  of  him  in 
that  connection,  I  knew  that  the  problem  was  solved.  Dick 
Wardell,  we  called  him,  I  suppose  Richard  was  his  name, 
was  then  a  handsome  young  man,  below  medium  height,  but 
well  built  and  in  every  way  a  clean-cut,  shrewd  Yankee,  prob- 
ably twenty-five  years  old.  He  was  one  of  the  chopping 
squad  when  we  were  first  taken  out,  but  he  soon  obtained 
what  he  thought  a  better  thing. 

One  of  the  rebel  officers  took  a  fancy  to  Dick  and  hired 
him  to  stay  in  the  stockade  and  exchange  confederate  money 
for  greenbacks.  At  that  time  a  dollar  of  our  money  was 
worth  twenty  to  thirty  dollars  of  rebel  money,  at  Charleston. 
The  rebel  officers  were  buying  greenbacks  in  the  stockade 
and  selling  them  at  Charleston.  They  were  paying  about 
ten  for  one.  To  facilitate  business,  they  had  forbidden  the 
rebel  sutler  who  had  a  store  in  the  prison,  taking  any  green- 
backs from  the  prisoners  in  payment  for  his  goods.  The 
V  ankees  who  had  greenbacks  must  first  exchange  for  confed. 
before  they  could  trade  with  the  sutler. 

I  called  on  Dick  Wardell :  "  Dick,"  said  I,  "  would  you 
like  to  get  away?" 

"  You  bet  your  bottom  dollar,"   said  Dick. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  185 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  roll  of  confed.  that  belongs  to  a  reb?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much?" 

"  About  fifteen  hundred." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  buy  your  way  out  with  it?" 

Dick  was  an  honest  fellow  and  he  didn't  at  first  take 
kindly  to  the  scheme.  We  talked  about  it  a  long  time.  I 
told  him  about  my  first  attempt,  how  we  would  be  helped  by 
the  negroes  and  showed  him  on  an  old  map,  that  Sherman 
was  heading  toward  Savannah,  where  we  could  meet  his  army 
without  having  to  go  far.  We  did  not  then  know  that 
Sherman  had  already  taken  Savannah.  In  fact,  1  persuaded 
Wardell  that  as  all  was  fair  in  love  and  war,  if  he  could  get 
away  by  using  the  rebel's  money,  he  ought  to  do  it.  Once  in 
the  notion,  he  took  hold  with  a  will.  He  knew  a  Yankee 
sergeant  who  was  working  in  the  hospital.  The  hospital  was 
about  an  acre  of  ground  in  one  corner  of  the  stockade,  and 
partitioned  off  from  the  remainder  of  the  prison  by  posts  with  a 
rail  on  top.  This  sergeant  and  his  squad  of  about  ten  men, 
were  all  on  parole.  They  were  employed  building  sheds  in  the 
hospital  (so  called)  for  the  sick  to  lie  under.  These  sheds 
were  made  by  putting  forked  logs  in  the  ground,  poles  on  the 
forks,  one  being  a  ridge  pole  and  the  others  lower  so  as  to 
form  a  roof  when  covered  with  shakes  or  long  shingles. 
Other  men  were  employed  to  cut  the  forks  and  poles  and  make 
the  shakes  in  the  woods.  The  sergeant  and  his  men  carried 
them  from  the  woods  into  the  hospital  corner  of  the  stockade 
and  put  up  the  sheds. 

In  order  that  these  men  might  pass  out  and  in  at  the 
hospital  gate,  they  were  provided  with  passes.  This  ser- 
geant agreed  to  pass  Wardell  and  myself  out  for  twelve 


186  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

hundred  dollars  in  confederate  money.  Early  on  the  next 
morning  after  this  agreement  was  made,  Wardell  and  I,  in 
order  to  get  into  the  hospital,  procured  a  stretcher  and  found 
a  sick  man  to  carry  in.  Having  gained  admission  to  the 
hospital  we  found  that  the  sergeant  had  taken  one  of  his  men 
into  his  confidence  and  that  we  were  to  use  that  man's  pass. 

This  plan  of  escape,  may  to  the  reader,  seem  quite  tame, 
requiring  neither  nerve  nor  daring  for  its  execution.  To  step 
into  line  with  eight  or  ten  other  men,  receive  a  pass,  and  then 
walk  out  of  the  gate,  passing  a  guard  who  would  merely  look 
at  your  pass,  did  seem  a  simple  and  an  easy  thing  to  do.  It 
was  neither  simple  nor  tame  nor  easy.  That  guard  had  a 
loaded  gun.  His  instructions  were  to  shoot  without  halting, 
any  prisoner  he  saw  attempting  to  escape.  We  were  told 
that  a  furlough  was  granted  as  a  reward,  to  every  guard  who 
killed  a  prisoner  attempting  to  escape.  We  did  not  know 
how  many  times  the  guard  on  duty  that  morning  had  been 
there  before.  If  he  had  been  there  before,  he  might  notice  a 
change  of  one  man  in  the  number  entitled  to  pass.  Should 
he  detect  us  in  our  scheme,  he  might  carry  out  instructions 
and  shoot  us  then  and  there.  If  he  did  not  shoot,  but  merely 
handed  us  over  to  the  officer  on  duty,  hanging  by  the  thumbs 
and  thirty  days  in  the  dungeon  on  scant  bread  and  water, 
would  surely  follow.  Few  men  endured  these  tortures  who 
were  not  by  them  so  broken  down  in  health  and  spirit  that 
they  soon  after  succumbed  to  the  ordinary  hardships  of  the 
prison  life. 

It  was  a  dangerous  plan,  too,  for  the  sergeant.  It  was  a 
violation  of  the  parole  under  which  he  was  entrusted  with  the 
passes.  Death  was  supposed  to  be  the  punishment  for  violat- 
ing a  parole.  We  thought  of  and  talked  of  all  these  things 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  187 

that  morning,  the  sergeant,  Wardell  and  myself.  More  than 
twenty  years  have  passed  and  the  vividness  with  which  I 
recall  the  incidents  of  that  morning,  is  evidence  to  me  that 
one  at  least  of  the  three  had  need  to  summon  up  his  courage. 

The  sense  of  personal  danger  that  one  feels  under 
such  circumstances,  is  not  the  sole  cause  of  agitated  feeling. 
No  ambitious  student,  however  carefully  trained,  can  take  the 
rostrum  on  his  graduating  day,  without  more  or  less  of  fear 
and  trembling.  Many  a  lawyer,  even  after  long  practice, 
tries  in  vain  to  sleep  the  night  before  an  important  trial.  They 
are  not  of  common  mould  who  can  perform  a  tragical  act  on 
the  stage  of  life  without  perturbance  of  soul.  The  little  boy 
giving  his  name  on  that  first  day  at  school,  the  maiden 
approaching  the  altar,  on  her  bridal  day,  the  soldier  standing 
in  line  of  battle  with  the  enemy  in  full  view,  it  comes  alike 
to  all. 

Aside  from  the  danger  involved,  this  was  to  me  a  crit- 
ical moment.  For  ten  months,  my  thoughts  by  day,  my 
dreams  by  night,  had  been  of  escape.  I  was  about  to  try. 
Succeed,  and  home  and  mother,  father,  brother,  and  sisters, 
and  all  that  life  gives  promise  of  to  a  boy  of  nineteen,  were 
before  me;  fail,  and  tortures  and  hunger  were  sure,  and  per- 
haps starvation,  sickness,  and  death. 

The  sergeant  was  very  anxious  to  have  Wardell  go  first, 
because  Wardell  had  the  money  which  he  was  to  hand  over 
when  he  was  on  the  outside.  Wardell  insisted  on  my  going 
first,  because  I  had  escaped  once,  and  he  thought  that  I  could 
make  a  second  attempt  with  greater  coolness  than  one  who 
had  never  tried,  so  I  stepped  into  the  line  and  took  the  pass. 

There  were  nurses  and  patients  of  the  hospital  and  work- 
men all  around  us,  who  knew  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 


1 88  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

The  rest  of  the  men  with  passes  did  not  know.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  every  man  around  me  must  see  in  my  face  all  that 
was  in  my  mind.  The  guard,  to  my  immense  relief,  took  no 
more  notice  of  me  than  of  the  others.  As  had  been  arranged 
between  us,  I  went  to  work  carrying  in  poles  and  shingles 
with  the  others.  After  we  had  gone  out  and  come  in  two  or 
three  times,  the  guard  concluded  that  he  knew  us  and  ceased 
to  look  at  the  passes.  Then  the  sergeant  went  out  with  me, 
and  I  gave  him  back  the  pass  which  he  was  to  take  in  and 
give  to  Wardell,  while  I  was  to  remain  out  until  Wardell 
should  join  me.  It  would  not  do,  however,  for  Wardell  to 
attempt  to  pass  the  same  guard.  He  must  wait  until  that 
guard's  two  hours  were  up  and  another  took  his  place.  I  sat 
under  a  tree  waiting;  saw  the  relief  guard  go  round,  was 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  Wardell  come  through  the 
gate,  when  I  saw  the  sergeant  coming  out.  I  knew  in  a 
moment  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  His  agitation  was 
to  me  evident,  from  the  manner  of  his  walk.  When  he 
got  to  me,  he  was  so  badly  scared  that  he  could  hardly  speak. 
"You  must  come  back  in,"  he  said.  "  Here  take  the  pass,  go 
get  a  load  of  shakes  and  come  right  in."  I  ask  him  what  the 
trouble  was.  He  said  that  we  were  found  out;  that  an 
officer  had  come  into  the  hospital  after  Wardell  just  as 
Wardell  was  about  to  come  out. 

What  had  transpired,  I  do  not  know.  I  have  never  since 
seen  or  heard  from  either  that  sergeant  or  Wardell.  It 
occurred  to  me,  however,  that  the  officer  for  whom  Wardell 
was  exchanging  money,  had  gone  into  the  stockade  to  see 
Wardell  on  business  and  had  been  told  that  Wardell  had 

» 

taken  a  sick  man  to  the  hospital,  and  that  the  officer  had  very 
naturally  gone  there  to  find  him.  Anyway,  I  said  to  the  ser- 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  189 

geant  that  I  needed  no  pass  to  come  back  in.  The  guard 
never  asked  for  a  pass  from  a  man  who  wanted  to  go  in.  I 
told  him  to  go  in  and  I  would  go  to  the  woods  after  the  load 
of  shakes  and  we  would  try  again  some  other  day.  He  went 
in  and  I  went  to  the  woods,  not  to  get  shakes,  but  to  shake 
from  my  feet  the  dust,  from  my  life,  the  horrors  of  that 
prison  pen. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BLOOD    HOUNDS    IN    SIGHT WAKE    UP    THE    WRONG    FAMILY 

GENTLEMEN   (VERY    LITTLE)   OF    COLOR 1    PLAY    THAT  I 

AM    A    SLAVE    OWNER    AND    TALK    WITH    REBEL  SOLDIERS. 

"  Jan.  /0,  1864.  I  am  a  free  man  today,  but  do  n't  know 
how  long  I  shall  have  the  good  fortune  to  remain  so.  Last 
night  was  a  dark  night  and  I  had  no  trouble  in  climbing  over 
the  stockade.  It  is  noon  now  and  has  commenced  to  rain." 

Such  is  the  entry  made  in  my  pocket  diary  on  the  day 
that  I  went  to  the  woods  for  my  last  load  of  shakes.  So 
written  for  the  purpose  of  misleading  my  captors,  should  I 
have  been  recaptured.  When  I  left  the  sergeant  as  before 
narrated,  I  walked  leisurely  toward  the  woods,  meeting  many 
of  the  paroled  men  and  some  of  the  rebel  soldiers.  No  one 
said  anything  indicating  suspicion.  Some  of  the  rebel  soldiers 
knew  me  as  captain  of  the  chopping  squad  and  probably  sup- 
posed I  was  still  out  in  that  capacity.  Once  in  the  woods,  I 
avoided  meeting  anyone  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  north. 
When  I  had  gone  what  I  thought  to  be  about  a  mile,  I  went 
into  the  swamp,  got  into  the  creek  that  flowed  through  it  and 
waded  up  the  stream  what  I  judged  to  be  another  mile.  By  this 
means,  I  hoped  to  avoid  leaving  any  scent  for  the  pack  of  blood 
hounds  that  were  taken  every  evening  around  the  prison  about 
two  miles  out.  These  hounds  were  so  trained  that  they  would 
take  and  follow  the  track  of  any  prisoner  who  during  the  day 


THM  SMOKED  TANK.  191 

had  crossed  the  limits  of  the  parole.  As  I  waded  along  in  the 
water  thinking  I  was  far  enough  out  to  be  safe  and  feeling 
pretty  tired,  for  wading  up  stream  in  water,  and  cold  water  at 
that,  is  hard  work,  it  began  to  rain.  Knowing  that  a  hard 
rain  would  as  effectually  remove  all  scent  from  my  tracks  as  a 
running  stream,  I  left  the  water.  I  sat  down  with  my  back 
against  a  large  tree,  to  rest.  To  keep  off  the  rain,  I  had 
secured  a  large  piece  of  bark  and  leaned  it  against  the  tree 
and  sat  under  it.  Sitting  there  protected  from  the  fast  falling 
rain,  I  iwrote  the  notes  last  quoted.  Had  just  finished  when  I 
heard  behind  me,  voices  of  men,  barking  of  dogs  and  the 
sound  of  horses  feet.  Looking  carefully,  I  saw  through  the 
thick  woods,  the  squad  of  rebel  cavalry  and  the  pack  of  blood 
hounds,  passing  along  a  road  that  crossed  the  creek  in  sight 
of  where  I  sat.  Had  I  kept  on  wading  up  the  creek,  I  would 
surely  have  been  so  close  to  them  at  the  crossing,  as  to  have 
made  my  discovery  by  the  dogs  almost  certain.  They 
crossed  the  creek  and  stopped  at  a  farm  house  that  stood  on  a 
hill,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  beyond  and  I  crossed  the  dan- 
gerous line  behind  the  dreaded  hounds  and  went  rejoicing  on 
my  way,  the  greatest  danger  to  the  escaping  prisoner  from  a 
rebel  prison,  safely  passed.  The  rain  came  down  in  torrents, 
relieving  me  from  all  anxiety  in  regard  to  the  dreaded  hounds. 
I  traveled  as  nearly  as  I  could  tell,  North  and  West,  intending 
to  strike  the  railroad  that  runs  West  from  Florence,  so  as  to 
have  some  guide  to  go  by  in  the  night.  Soon  after  dark,  I 
came  to  a  plantation  where  there  were  negro  quarters,  and 
after  some  reconnoitering,  I  entered  one,  made  myself  known, 
and  was  received  with  generous  hospitality.  A  guard  was 
immediately  placed  so  that  no  man,  woman,  or  child  of  my 
race,  might  come  upon  me  unawares,  and  I  was  warmed  and 


1  92  THE  SMOKED 


fed  in  truly  chivalrous  style  by  the  grateful  negroes.  Grate- 
ful then,  for  blessings  only  hoped  for,  and  fearful,  lest  their 
deeds  of  gratitude  might  be  discovered,  and  bring  them 
present  woe. 

Having  rested,  and  had  my  clothing  well  dried,  and  my 
shoes  dried  and  softened  with  grease,  I  resumed  my  way 
along  the  railroad  track.  Came  into  Lynchburg  about  day- 
light, and  there  saw  an  old  "Uncle"  getting  ready  to  kill 
hogs.  He  was  building  up  a  great  log-heap  of  dry  logs,  with 
"fat"  pine  for  kindling,  and  putting  stones  among  the  logs, 
with  which  to  heat  the  water  to  scald  the  hogs,  just  as  I  had 
helped  to  do  often  at  home.  He  no  sooner  learned  that  I 
was  an  escaped  Yankee  than  he  urged  me  to  "  get  away  from 
hyer,  young  Massa.  Too  many  folks  gwine  to  be  around 
hyer  soon."  But  he  told  me  how  to  find  another  black  man, 
whom  I  could  trust,  and  to  him  I  went.  He  took  me  to  a 
safe  place  in  the  woods;  built  for  me  a  nice  fire  beside  a  big 
log;  then  brought  me  food,  and  quilts  to  wrap  up  in;  cared 
for  me  as  tenderly  as  a  mother  does  for  her  sick  boy;  and 
then  left  me  there  to  sleep.  My  diary  reads: 

"  'Jan.  //,  1865.  It  rained  until  sundown.  I  was  com- 
pletely soaked.  Stopped  about  10  o'clock  and  got  my  clothes 
partially  dried,  then  came  four  miles  this  side  of  Lynchburg. 
It  was  ciaylight  when  I  stopped,  completely  fagged  out;  was 
so  tired  that  I  could  not  have  walked  another  mile.  My  feet 
are  blistered,  and  I  am  stiff  and  sore  all  over.  Made  a  fire  in 
the  woods,  and  have  stayed  by  it  all  day.  Shall  try  to  reach 
Sumpterville,  twenty-two  miles,  to-night." 

I  dared  not  mention,  in  my  notes,  the  stranger  friend  who 
built  the  fire,  and  bathed  my  feet,  and  rubbed  my  swollen 
joints,  and  brought  me  food  and  bed,  lest  some  mishap  might 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  193 

cause  his  left  hand  to  know  what  his  right  hand  had  been 
doing. 

That  night  1  followed  the  wagon-road  to  Sumpterville. 
Nearing  the  town,  and  daylight  coming  on,  I  began  to  look 
for  some  negro  quarter,  where  I  could  make  myself  known, 
and  secure  the  usual  assistance.  At  length,  I  saw,  near  the 
road,  two  rows  of  negro  quarters.  I  went  among  them, 
searching  for  one,  the  inmates  of  which  were  up.  There  was 
a  stillness  about  them  that  made  me  feel  suspicious.  Negroes 
are  early  risers,  and  you  seldom  find  them  all  asleep  on  any 
large  plantation.  At  length,  rinding  no  signs  of  any  one 
being  awake,  I  rapped  on  the  door  of  one  of  the  houses. 
After  repeated  rapping  some  one  called  out:  "Who's 
there?"  It  was  no  negro's  voice.  "Who's  there?"  came 
again,  and  evidently  the  voice  of  a  white  woman.  I  thought 
best  to  answer,  so  I  said:  "I  am  a  soldier,  and  have  lost  my 
way."  Then  I  heard:  "John,  John,  wake  up,  there  is  some 
one  at  the  door."  When  John  awoke,  that  woman  must  have 
had  a  hard  time  making  him  believe  that  there  had  been  any- 
body at  the  door.  I  was  wretchedly  tired,  and  my  feet  were 
painfully  sore,  but  the  first  few  minutes,  after  leaving  that 
door,  I  in  some  way,  got  over  a  good  deal  of  ground.  I 
afterward  learned  that  those  negro  quarters  were  occupied 
by  the  families  of  poor  white  soldiers,  who  were  being  cared 
for  by  the  town,  and  that  some  of  the  soldiers  were  at  home 
on  furlough. 

Fearing  pursuit,  I  left  the  highway  and  ran  off  across  the 
fields.  As  daylight  was  coming  on,  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  find  a  hiding  place  for  the  day,  so  I  made  for  the  first 
plantation  in  sight,  a  large  one.  There  I  found  the  usual 
negro  quarters  on  each  side  of  the  street,  leading  from  the 


194  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

planter's  house  to  the  fields.  Partly  to  get  as  far  from  white 
people  as  possible,  and  partly  because  there  was  smoke 
coming  from  the  chimney,  I  knocked  on  the  door  of  a  house 
at  the  far  end  of  the  row.  The  door  was  opened  by  a 
gentleman  of  color,  but  not  very  much  color;  probably  an 
octoroon,  but  as  white  as  myself.  Entering,  there  sat  another 
gentleman  of  very  pale  color,  dressed  in  broadcloth,  a  ring  on 
his  finger,  a  gold  watch  and  chain  —  a  regular  dandy — smok- 
ing a  finely  flavored  cigar,  by  the  fire-place.  Well,  I  thought 
to  myself,  as  I  accepted  a  proffered  cigar  and  took  a  seat,  this 
is  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish;  I  am  in  a  scrape  now,  sure.  In 
order  to  find  out  how  the  land  lay  I  kept  the  two  men  talking. 
They  were  brothers.  One  was  the  overseer  of  the  planta- 
tion, the  other  a  clerk  in  a  store  at  Charleston,  out  on  a  visit. 
They  were  slaves.  Gathering  from  their  conversation  that 
their  sympathies  were  on  the  right  side  I  made  myself  and 
my  wants  known,  and  was  at  once  carried  off  to  a  safe  hiding 
place  in  the  woods.  To  build  a  fire  they  thought  might  lead 
to  discovery,  so  they  furnished  me  with  blankets  to  wrap 
myself  up  in  while  I  slept.  These  men  thought  the  best  way 
for  me  to  get  beyond  Sumpterville  was  to  go  straight  through. 
They  said:  "Let  one  of  our  black  boys  walk  behind  you, 
just  as  though  he  was  following  his  master,  and  no  one  will 
suspect  you  of  being  a  Yankee."  There  were  two  battalions 
of  rebel  soldiers  camped  near  the  town,  and  they  were 
roaming  around  everywhere.  As  I  was  as  likely  to  meet 
them  one  place  as  another,  I  took  the  overseer's  advice,  and 
that  night  I  started  out,  followed  by  my  guide.  No  negro 
driver  ever  appeared  less  afraid  of  being  noticed  than  I  did, 
as  I  stalked  through  Sumpterville  that  evening,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  my  black  slave.  I  had  so  little  fear  of  detection 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  195 

that  I  walked  up  to  the  camp-fire  of  some  of  the  soldiers, 
smoked  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and  talked  with  them  some  time, 
taking  care,  however,  to  keep  some  of  them  talking  all  the 
time,  and  tp  leave  as  soon  as  I  had  got  all  the  information  I 
wanted.  These  soldiers  were  on  their  way  to  the  front  to  stop 
Sherman,  their  train  being  delayed  by  the  washing  away 
of  a  bridge.  My  guide  took  me  a  few  miles  beyond  the  town 
and  left  me  with  another  negro,  with  whom  I  stayed  the  rest 
of  the  night  and  the  next  day,  in  order  to  get  my  blistered 
feet  in  better  condition. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    PRESSING    INVITATION 1    PADDLE    A    CANOE AM    CAUGHT 

IN    A     "NIGGAH     HOUSE"    —A     CHIVALROUS    LADY     PLEADS 
MY    CAUSE A    NIGHT    IN    A    SWAMP. 

"  Jan.  14,  1865.  Did  not  reach  the  Santee  river  last 
night;  it  was  farther  than  I  thought.  I  had  several  narrow 
escapes,  met  ten  or  twelve  soldiers  at  one  time;  believe  they 
were  deserters  from  Charleston.  Met  an  officer  in  the  road 
about  one  o'clock;  came  upon  him  unexpectedly  and  was  some- 
what confused,  but  managed  to  answer  his  questions  though 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  very  well  satisfied  with  my  answers. 
His  name  was  Captain  Beetsom." 

Was  walking  along  a  well-traveled  road,  plantation 
fields  each  side,  and  a  full  moon  shining  very  brightly,  when 
I  met  the  officer  mentioned.  I  heard  what  I  supposed  to  be 
two  negroes  talking  in  a  fence  corner,  and  not  being  afraid  of 
negroes,  did  not  seek  to  avoid  them.  Coming  to  where  they 
stood  talking  in  the  corner  of  a  rail  fence,  one  proved  to  be  a 
rebel  officer. 

I  said,  "Howd'y  do;"  and  would  have  passed  along,  but 
the  officer  indicated  an  almost  comanding  desire  for  further 
conversation,  and  I  had  either  to  stop  or  to  run. 

He  wanted  to  know  where  I  was  going,  why  I  traveled 
so  late,  where  I  belonged,  etc.  I  told  him  I  belonged  to 
Major 's  battalion,  giving  the  name  of  one  of  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  197 

majors  whose  command  was  at  Sumpterville,  that  we  were  on 
the  way  to  Branchville  when  our  train  was  delayed  by  the 
bridge  being  washed  away;  that  my  father  lived  across  the 
Santee;  that  I  had  obtained  leave  to  visit  my  home,  and  meet 
the  regiment  at  Branchville. 

"What  is  your  father's  name?"  I  gave  it.  "Where 
does  he  live?"  "Ten  miles  beyond  the  ferry."  "In  what 
parish?"  That  was  a  stunner.  I  didn't  know  what  he  meant 
by  parish  nor  the  name  of  any.  Unconsciously  I  began  to 
stammer .  He  instantly,  and  probably  as  unconsciously,  sought 
to  assist  my  impediment  of  speech  by  speaking  the  names  of 
two.  Thus  assisted,  I  easily  gave  one  of  the  names. 

His  suspicions  seemed  to  be  allayed,  and  we  fell  into 
pleasant  conversation.  Talked  of  the  war  and  its  prospects, 
of  Sherman  and  his  probable  movements.  He  told  me  of  his 
experience  in  the  Atlanta  campaign.  How  he  had  been 
wounded  and  was  now  at  home  on  sick  leave.  Even  removed 
his  clothes  and  showed  me  where  the  ball  went  in,  just  above 
his  pants  pocket,  and  where  it  came  out. 

When  I  proposed  to  go,  he  very  cordially  asked  me  to 
spend  the  rest  of  the  night  at  his  house.  Couldn't  possibly 
do  so;  must  get  to  my  father's  early  in  the  morning  and  to 
Branchville  the  next  night.  "But  you  can't  cross  the  river 
before  the  ferry  goes,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  take  you  there  on 
horse-back  as  soon  as  we  have  breakfast  and  in  plenty  of  time 
for  the  ferry.  It  only  makes  one  trip  a  day."  Thus  he 
pressed  me  to  stay  in  the  kindest  and  most  hospitable  manner. 
I  dared  not  risk  it,  and  still  I  had  no  good  excuse  to  offer.  I 
was  in  a  dilemma,  but  I  cut  it  short  by  thanking  him  for  his 
courtesy  and  walking  off. 

Out  of  sight,  my  walk  became  a  run,  which  I  kept  up  for 


198  THE    SMOKED  YANK. 

several  miles,  then  stopped  to  listen.  With  my  ear  to  the 
ground,  I  heard  the  patter  of  a  horse's  feet;  got  behind  a  tree 
and  soon  after  along  came  the  genial  officer  on  his  horse,  a 
large  revolver  in  one  hand.  He  passed  by  and  I  followed 
him.  Although  he  rode  at  a  brisk  canter,  I  kept  close  enough 
to  hear  his  horse,  believing  it  safer  to  do  so  than  to  run  the 
risk  of  being  ambushed. 

A  few  miles  further  on,  he  came  to  a  plantation,  rode  up 
to  the  house  and  aroused  the  planter.  I  slipped  up  close 
enough  to  hear  all  that  was  said.  He  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I  was  a  deserter.  The  two  men  woke  up  the 
negroes  at  the  one  negro  house  and  searched  the  house.  My 
pursuer  then  concluded  that  he  had  passed  me  on  the  road, 
and  went  back.  The  planter  went  into  his  house  and  I  was 
soon  in  the  hands  of  my  friends  in  the  negro  quarters.  One 
of  these  took  me  to  where  the  ferry  crossed  the  Santee. 

The  streams  at  that  time  were  all  swollen  by  the  heavy 
winter  rains.  The  swamp  that  bordered  the  Santee  on  that 
side  was  full  of  water  so  that  the  ferry  had  to  make  a  trip  of 
three  miles.  I  was  concealed  near  the  ferry  landing,  and 
some  negroes  who  were  going  across  understood  my  situation 
and  were  to  make  it  all  right  with  the  ferryman  who  was  a 
negro.  The  ferry  came  over  about  ten  in  the  morning  bring- 
ing a  rebel  officer  on  horse-back  who  had  pistols  in  the  hols- 
ters of  his  saddle.  I  kept  out  of  his  sight  until  he  rode  away, 
them  came  from  my  hiding  place.  When  the  ferry  was  about 
to  start,  another  white  man  arrived  on  horse-back  who  wanted 
to  cross  also.  This  man  was  a  surgeon  in  the  rebel  army. 

The  ferry  started,  the  old  ferryman  poling  the  boat  along  in 
water  three  or  four  feet  deep,  following  the  opening  among  the 
trees  made  by  the  submerged  wagon-road.  We  had  not  gone  far 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  199 

before  the  rebel  began  to  ask  me  questions.  I  told  him  about 
the  same  story  that  I  had  told  the  officer  in  the  road  the  night 
before.  The  ferryman  and  the  other  negroes  who  were  cross- 
ing and  who  were  helping  to  push  the  boat,  heard  what  the 
rebel  was  saying,  and  were  evidently  alarmed. 

There  was  a  canoe  or  dug-out  tied  to  the  side  of  the  boat. 
The  old  ferryman  spoke  to  me,  saying :  "  Say  da',  young  Massa, 
can  you  paddle  a  canoe?"  "I  reckon  I  can,"  said  I.  "Then 
I'se  mighty  glad  if  you'd  git  into  dat  ar'  canoe  an'  keep  it 
from  gittin'  smashed  up  'twixt  de  boat  an'  de  trees." 

I  got  into  the  canoe,  well  knowing  that  the  darky  had 
planned  to  get  me  away  from  the  rebel.  I  paddled  ahead, 
gradually  drawing  away  from  the  ferry  until  ,a  turn  in  the 
road  put  me  out  of  sight,  then  I  paddled  with  all  my  might. 
Reaching  the  swollen  and  swift-flowing  river,  I  did  not  feel  so 
safe  in  the  easily  tipped  canoe.  Money  would  n't  have  hired 
me  to  attempt  a  crossing  in  such  a  craft.  It  was  getting  dark 
too.  There  seemed  no  other  way  to  do,  so  I  ventured  into 
the  rushing  water  and  safely  landed  on  the  other  side. 

Fearing  the  rebel  had  regarded  me  with  suspicion,  and 
desiring  to  mislead  him,  I  pulled  the  canoe  out  of  the  water 
some  distance  below  the  road,  and  hid  it  in  the  brush,  then 
concealed  myself  near  enough  to  the  landing  to  hear  what 
might  be  said  when  the  boat  arrived.  The  way  that  old 
negro  lashed  me  with  his  tongue  when  he  got  over  and  saw 
no  boat,  was  amusing.  The  rebel,  too,  had  thought  all  the 
time  that  I  was  a  deserter.  When  he  rode  off,  I  came  out  as 
the  smart  old  darky  had  expected  me  to  do,  and  he  explained 
with  great  gusto  how  he  had  done  "  all  dat  cussin'  jus'  to  t'row 
dat  white  ossifer  off  from  de  scent;  knowed  all  de  time  dat 


200  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

you  would  turn  up  roun'  hyer  sumwheres,  soon  as  dat  odder 
white  man  done  got  oute'n  de  way." 

It  will  be  noticed  that  in  my  notes  taken  as  I  traveled, 
little  reference  is  made  to  the  assistance  received  from  colored 
friends.  They  furnished  me  with  food,  concealed  me  in  some 
place  where  I  could  sleep  during  the  day  either  in  secluded 
woods  by  a  fire,  or  covered  up  in  a  fodder  or  gin  house.  To 
have  mentioned  these  things,  would  have  exposed  them  to 
possible  discovery  and  punishment.  My  notes  of  that  cross- 
ing, are  as  follows: 

"  Jan.  /j,  1865.  Did  not  travel  last  night.  Heard  that 
the  swamp  was  up  so  that  I  could  not  get  to  the  river  on  foot. 
Came  to  the  river  to-day  and  had  to  wade  through  water  up 
to  my  shoulders  to  get  here.  Some  negroes  are  here  who 
have  been  waiting  two  days  to  get  across.  They  say  the 
ferry  is  three  miles  long,  and  that  the  boat  will  not  be  over 
until  to-morrow. 

"  Jan.  16,  1865.  The  boat  came  over  to-day.  A  rebel 
officer  came  over  with  it;  managed  to  escape  his  notice. 
Just  as  we  were  about  to  start  a  white  man,  a  surgeon  in  the 
rebel  army,  rode  up.  Did  not  see  him  in  time  to  get  out  of 
the  way,  and  had  to  cross  over  with  him.  He  asked  me  some 
troublesome  questions,  but  did  not  make  much." 

Having  obtained  directions  from  the  negroes,  I  started 
on  toward  Branchville. 

I  walked  rapidly  until  about  i  o'clock,  when,  being  tired 
and  hungry,  and  seeing  a  light  in  a  negro  quarter  that  I  was 
passing,  I  concluded  to  rest  and  get  something  to  eat. 

In  answer  to  my  rap  on  the  door,  "Who's  da?"  came  in 
a  woman's  voice.  "Is  that  you,  aunty?"  I  said,  "Where  is 
uncle,  I  want  to  see  him."  "Who's  you  prowlin'  around  dis 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  201 

time  o'  night?"  I  told  her  that  I  was  a  white  man,  and  had 
lost  my  way.  She  said  her  man  had  gone  to  a  "  white  folks' " 
house,  and  that  I  could  go  over  there  to  see  him.  I  gave  her 
to  understand  that  I  did  not  want  to  be  seen  by  any  white 
man,  and,  if  I  had  told  her  why,  it  would  have  been  all  right. 
I  prevailed  on  her  to  open  the  door  so  that  I  might  sit  by  the 
fire  until  uncle  got  back.  I  sat  down  by  the  fire,  when  she 
remarked,  "Dat  fire's  gittin'  mighty  low,"  and  went  out.  I 
heard  her  chopping  with  an  axe  and  supposed  she  would  be 
in  presently  to  replenish  the  fire. 

The  next  thing  I  heard  was,  "  Come  out  of  that  niggah 
quarter!  you  damn  white  -  -  of  a  -  — ."  I  opened  the  door 
and  there  in  the  moonlight,  twenty  yards  away,  stood  a  young 
man  in  rebel  uniform,  with  a  double-barreled  shot-gun  in  his 
hands. 

As  I  stood  in  the  door-way,  he  gave  vent  to  a  perfect 
volume  of  oaths  and  vile  epithets,  such  as  —  "Come  out  of 
that'ar  niggah  house,  or  I  will  blow  your  d  —  n  head  off!" 
Putting  on  much  more  assurance  than  I  felt,  I  said,  "You  had 
better  find  out  who  your  are  talking  to,  sir,  before  you  use 
such  language.  If  you  are  so  keen  to  shoot,  you  better  go  to 
the  front  and  try  it  on  the  Yanks." 

Somewhat  cooled  down,  he  then  asked  me  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  myself.  I  gave  him  the  Sumpterville  delayed-train 
story. 

"What  regiment  does  your  battalion  belong  to?"  he  said. 
This  was  another  stunner.  I  did  not  remember  to  have  heard 
the  number  of  the  regiment.  Answering  at  random,  "The 
37th  South  Carolina,"  I  said.  "The  h — 1  you  do!  There 
aint  no  37th  South  Carolina.  Can't  play  that  game  on  me;  I 
arrest  you,  sir," 


202  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

I  stuck  to  my  story,  and  intimated  that  a  South  Carolina 
soldier  must  be  lamentably  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  state,  if  he  didn't  know  that  there  was  a  37th  South  Caro- 
lina. I  told  him  that  if  he  even  had  this  year's  almanac  in  the 
house,  I  could  prove  it  to  him.  He  took  me  into  the  house, 
saying  that  he  was  going  to  Orangeburg  after  breakfast,  and 
that  he  would  take  me  along  and  let  me  convince  the  provost 
marshal  that  there  was  a  37th  South  Carolina. 

We  sat  down  by  the  fire.  I  looked  the  young  man  over 
and  concluded  that  if  he  undertook  to  take  me  to  Branchville 
as  he  proposed,  in  a  one-horse  buggy  and  guard  me  with  a 
shot-gun,  there  would  be  trouble  on  the  way.  Still  the  best 
plan  for  me  was  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  by  strategy  if  pos- 
sible. 

This  young  man  belonged  to  the  rebel  cavalry.  He  was 
at  home  on  a  furlough,  and  was  going  to  Orangeville  that  day 
to  get  married.  His  brother  had  left  about  one  o'clock  so  as 
to  reach  a  station  in  time  for  an  early  train  that  would  take 
him  back  to  his  regiment  at  Richmond.  The  negro  man  had 
gone  with  this  brother.  The  negro  woman  took  me  for  one  of 
the  rebel  deserters  that  infested  the  neighborhood,  often  rob- 
bing chicken-roosts  and  pig  pens,  and  making  themselves  a 
terror  to  the  negroes  generally.  She  had  chopped  with  the 
axe  to  make  believe,  then  ran  to  the  white  folks'  house  where 
the  people  were  up  to  "speed  the  parting  guest,"  and  told 
them  that  there  was  one  of  the  deserters  in  her  house. 

The  soldier  was  right  about  there  being  no  South  Caro- 
lina regiment  numbered  thirty-seven.  There  were  more  than 
thirty-seven  regiments  in  the  army  from  South  Carolina,  but 
as  each  city  was  ambitious  to  put  the  first  regiment  in  the 
field,  there  was  a  ist  South  Carolina  from  Charleston,  a  j  st 


THE  SMOKED  YANK.  203 

from  Columbia,  and  so  on.  A  2d,  from  several  places,  and 
so  with  each  number.  So,  at  least,  this  soldier  said.  Still,  I 
persistently  stuck  to  my  story;  claimed  that  my  regiment  was 
organized  in  the  northeast  corner  of  the  state,  was  made  up 
lately  of  home-guards,  old  men  and  boys,  and  I  believe  he 
finally  concluded  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be  wrong. 

We  sat  there  talking  until  nearly  breakfast  time.  Then 
the  young  soldier  taking  his  shot-gun  went  out  on  the  porch, 
and  as  he  stood  there  giving  some  directions  about  the  horse 
he  was  to  drive  to  Orangeburg,  his  sister-in-law  came  into  the 
room. 

She  was  the  wife  of  the  soldier  who  had  left  at  one 
o'clock,  and  mother  of  a  bright  little  girl  of  five  or  six  years 
whom  I  held  on  my  knee  and  had  been  telling  stories  to 
about  the  Yankees. 

The  lady  expressed  the  hope  that  I  would  have  no  trouble 
in  making  everything  right  when  I  got  to  Orangeburg.  Said 
she  was  sorry  to  have  her  brother-in-law  take  a  prisoner  with 
him  when  he  was  going  to  meet  his  bride. 

Taking  my  cue  from  her  sympathetic  mood,  I  begged  her 
to  intercede  for  me  with  her  brother-in-law.  I  told  her  I  only 
had  verbal  permission  from  my  officers  to  leave  the  command. 
That  the  provost  marshal  would  not  believe  my  story;  that  he 
would  hold  me  under  arrest.  That  my  officers  would  be  sent 
on  from  Branchville  to  the  front,  and  there  would  be  no  tell- 
ing how  long  I  would  be  held  as  a  prisoner  in  a  guard-house. 
That  my  people,  my  mother  and  sisters,  would  be  sure  to  hear 
of  it,  and  they  would  be  sorely  distressed.  That  I  would 
much  rather  the  news  went  home  that  I  was  shot  than  that  I 
had  been  arrested  as  a  deserter.  I  assured  her,  with  tears  in 
my  eyes,  on  the  word  and  honor  of  a  gentleman  that  there 


204  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

was  nothing  I  so  much  desired  as  to  get  to  the  front  where  I 
could  fight  for  my  country. 

The  last  was  truth;  but  oh,  the  lies  I  told  that  lady.  Was 
I  excusable  under  the  circumstances?  Ask  some  moral  phil- 
osopher. Let  him  reason  it  out.  To  me,  life  was  sweet,  lib- 
erty dear.  If  conscience  is  any  guide,  mine  at  that  moment 
held  me  guiltless  of  all  wrong.  A  man  may  talk  about  con- 
science while  he  steals  your  spoons,  but  I  doubt  if  such  honest 
tears  as  mine  were  can  be  made  to  trickle  down  his  cheeks 
while  he  is  doing  that  which  conscience  holds  to  be  wrong. 

Tears  came  to  the  lady's  eyes,  too.  She  went  out  on  the 
porch.  I  heard,  but  cannot  recall  exactly  her  words.  As  I 
stood  there  listening,  it  occurred  to  me  that  here  was  a  sample 
of  that  Southern  chivalry  which  I  had  always  believed  in  but 
seldom  had  a  glimpse  of.  He  tried  to  refuse.  She  would 
not  let  him. 

"Why,  John,"  she  said,  "You  must  let  him  go.  Think 
of  his  mother  and  sisters.  What  would  your  mother  and 
your  sisters  say?  Think  of  your  Maggie,  John,  and  this  is 
your  wedding  day.  Would  you  have  this  boy  curse  you  on 
your  wedding  day?  Oh,  you  must  let  him  go."  Then  her 
arms  went  around  his  neck;  there  was  one  long,  resounding 
kiss,  and  she  brought  in  the  gun. 

The  soldier  followed  her,  laughing.  He  said  he  sup- 
posed he  would  have  to  let  me  off,  as  there  was  no  use  trying 
to  refuse  a  woman.  We  all  sat  down  to  breakfast.  That 
over,  the  soldier  invited  me  to  ride  with  him  to  where  the 
Branch ville  road  turned  off  from  that  to  Orangeville,  which  I 
did.  There  was  no  hypocracy  in  the  thanks  I  tried  to  express 
to  the  lady  of  that  Southern  home  as  I  took  her  hand  at 
parting. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  205 

At  the  forks  of  the  road,  I  parted  with  the  young  soldier 
wishing  him  joy  at  his  wedding,  and  thanking  him  warmly  for 
his  kindness.  "Don't  think  you  have  much  cause  for  thank- 
ing me,"  he  said,  meaning  that  to  his  sister-in-law,  I  owed  my 
release.  "Well,  you  have  both  given  me  more  cause  for 
thanks  than  you  are  aware  of,"  I  said,  as  I  turned  from  him  to 
conceal  the  smile  I  could  not  suppress. 

No  boy  just  out  of  school,  no  bird  just  freed  from  a  cage, 
ever  whistled  or  sung  with  a  gayer  heart  than  mine,  as  I  went 
merrily  on  my  way  that  bright  frosty  morning. 

For  a  while  the  road  led  me  through  a  timbered  country, 
but  at  length  I  came  to  where  the  road  was  a  lane,  with 
cultivated  fields  on  each  side.  Some  distance  ahead  I  saw 
plantation  houses,  and  concluded  to  get  by  them  by  walking 
through  the  corn  field  on  the  opposite  side. 

Nearing  these  houses  I  saw  a  white  man  on  the  porch,  and 
perceived  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  watching  me.  Pres- 
ently he  shouted  and  motioned  to  me  to  come  to  him.  I 
kept  on,  as  though  I  had  neither  seen  nor  heard.  Then  he 
called  to  some  one  to  loose  the  dogs,  and,  gun  in  hand, 
started  on  the  run  In  my  direction. 

Naturally  fleet  of  foot  and  long-winded,  I  was  soon  in  the 
woods,  beyond  that  corn  field,  and  glad  to  find  a  swamp  there. 
Wet  ground  at  first,  then  a  little  water,  then  ankle  deep. 
Straight  on  I  ran,  knowing  that  no  ordinary  white  man  could 
keep  me  in  sight,  and  that  dogs  could  not  track  me  through 
wrater.  When  I  had  gone  far  enough  to  feel  perfectly  safe  I 
climbed  into  some  wild  vines,  where  I  could  rest  and  be  out 
of  the  water,  and  there  I  stayed  until  dark. 

That  was  a  hard  night.  It  rained,  and  was  pitch  dark. 
I  could  not  see  the  trees;  had  to  feel  for  them  with  a  stick. 

04) 


206  THE  SMOKED  YANK. 

I  fell  over  logs,  got  tangled  in  vines,  pricked  by  thorns,  and 
scratched  by  briars. 

Toward  morning,  guided  by  the  sound  of  crowing  cocks, 
I  got  out  of  the  swamp,  and  found  a  negro  quarter.  Woefully 
tired,  famished  for  food,  wet  to  the  skin,  with  torn  and  muddy 
clothes,  and  bleeding  wounds,  I  was  surely  a  pitiable  object 
as  I  stood  by  the  pitch-pine  fire  those  trusty  darkies  built 
for  me. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I    STEAL    MULES,    AND     TAKE    A     RIDE A    WELL-LAID    SCHEME 

"GANG       AFT       AGLEE"   —  SOME       DANGEROUS       PLACES  — 
CROSSING    THE    SALKAHATCHIE. 

That  day,  January  17,  I  was  furnished  with  some  dry 
clothes,  was  well  warmed  and  fed,  and  laid  away  in  a  fodder 
house  while  my  shoes  and  pants  were  repaired.  Was  con- 
siderably disgusted  to  learn  that  I  was  only  three  miles  from 
the  place  where  the  man  took  after  me  in  the  corn  field.  I 
had  spent  the  night  traveling  in  more  or  less  of  a  circle,  in  the 
swamp  that  bordered  Cattle  Creek.  Was  now  twelve  miles 
southeast  of  Branchville.  Desired  to  cross  the  Edisto  river. 
Heavy  rains  had  swollen  all  the  streams,  and  filled  the  swamps 
with  water.  All  the  streams  in  that  part  of  South  Carolina 
run  from  northwest  to  southeast.  As  I  was  making  for 
Savannah,  my  route  lay  across  all  the  streams  and  swamps. 
Nearly  all  of  the  roads  ran  parallel  with  the  streams.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  country  were  in  a  state  of  excitement  and 
alarm,  apprehending  an  invasion  of  the  state  by  Sherman's 
army.  Rebel  soldiers  were  being  collected  at  Branchville 
and  other  points,  and  preparations  made  to  meet  the  invader. 
The  masters  feared  that  their  negroes  would  rise  en  masse, 
and  go  to  meet  their  deliverers.  Desertions  from  the  rebel 
troops  were  frequent.  The  ferries  and  bridges  on  all  important 
streams  were  guarded,  and  mounted  patrols  were  upon  all  the 


2o8  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

highways.  Under  these  circumstances  it  was  exceedingly 
difficult  for  me  to  pass  through  the  country.  Even  the 
negroes,  always  so  willing  to  furnish  food,  or  to  travel  at 
night  as  guides,  were  afraid  to  stir  out  by  night,  lest  they  be 
caught  by  the  patrols,  and  killed  for  example.  I  spent  two 
days  and  nights  trying  to  find  some  unguarded  place,  where  I 
could  cross  the  Edisto. 

Finally,  I  met  a  young  negro,  who  told  me  there  was 
no  guard  on  the  bridges  that  crossed  the  two  Edisto  rivers 
above  where  they  came  together.  He  said  the  water  was  so 
deep  between  the  two  bridges  that  no  guard  was  necessary. 
This  boy  had  daring  enough  for  anything.  He  wanted  to 
take  me  across  these  bridges,  which  he  said  we  could  reach 
by  wading  and  swimming,  but  as  it  was  ten  miles  from  his 
home  to  the  nearest  bridge,  he  was  afraid  he  could  not  make 
the  trip  and  get  back  in  one  night. 

I  suggested  that  we  borrow  a  couple  of  his  master's 
mules  and  ride.  He  was  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
caught  putting  the  mules  into  the  stable  when  he  should 
return,  but  was  not  willing  to  risk  being  caught  trying  to  take 
them  out.  So,  about  n  o'clock  that  night,  while  the  negro 
boy  was  conveniently  posted  so  as  to  give  a  signal,  in  case  of 
danger,  I  slipped  into  the  barn  and  brought  out  a  span  of 
mules. 

We  had  to  ride  bareback,  because  the  saddles  were  kept 
at  the  house,  where  they  could  not  be  easily  obtained.  I  had 
wondered  how  this  boy  expected  to  pass  the  patrol  on  the 
road,  traveling  this  way.  Usually  when  I  traveled  with  a 
negro  for  guide  he  walked  ahead,  and  there  was  little  danger 
of  our  meeting  any  white  man  whom  his  quick  eye,  or  attentive 
ear  did  not  first  discover.  I  asked  this  boy  how  we  were  to 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  209 

get  by  the  patrols  on  mules.  "Don'  you  gib  yourself  no 
troubble  'bout  dat,  young  Massa;  ain't  gwine  to  meet  no 
patrol  on  dat  road  what  I'se  gwine  to  trabble.  You  stick  to 
dat  ar  mule,  and  I'se  gwine  to  land  you  safe  on  todder  side  o' 
bofe  dem  ar  Edisto  ribbers."  I  did  stick  to  the  mule,  and 
there  was  little  danger  of  meeting  patrols  on  the  road  he 
"trabbled." 

It  was  through  fields,  over  fences,  and  through  by-paths 
in  the  woods.  How  he  could  tell  where  he  was  going  in  the 
dark,  puzzled  me.  We  were  several  times  in  water  that 
caused  the  mules  to  swim  before  we  reached  the  first  bridge, 
and  had  to  swim  in  several  places  between  the  bridges,  but  he 
landed  me  safe  across  both  Edistos  and  did  not  leave  me  until 
he  had  turned  me  over  to  another  negro  two  miles  beyond. 

Riding  bare-back  on  a  mule  was  to  me  a  new  kind  of  ex- 
ercise. The  parts  that  rested  on  the  mule  were  so  badly  ex- 
coriated that  for  several  days  I  could  not  walk  in  a  natural 
manner. 

The  next  night,  I  passed  through  Midway  and  stopped 
with  a  negro  who  was  coachman  for  his  master,  and  was  go- 
ing to  cross  the  Salkahatchie  to  bring  his  master  home.  This 
river  was  also  guarded.  Troops  under  the  rebel  Hardee,  and 
the  cavalry  general,  Wheeler,  were  making  preparations  to 
meet  and  oppose  Sherman  should  he  attempt  to  come  that 
way.  The  greatest  uncertainty  prevailed  as  to  what  route 
Sherman  would  take.  The  course  that  seemed  to  be  best  for 
me,  was  to  go  toward  Savannah  as  rapidly  as  possible,  pro- 
vided I  could  get  through  the  lines  of  the  enemy. 

I  anticipated  difficulty  in  getting  over  the  Salkahatchie, 
for  along  that  stream  the  rebels  were  preparing  to  make  a 
stand.  Not  only  bridges  and  causeways  were  guarded,  but 


2io  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

there  was  also  a  line  of  pickets  close  enough  to  be  in  sight  of 
each  other  walking  their  beats  all  along  the  stream.  When 
this  negro  proposed  to  take  me  in  a  close  carriage  through 
this  army  of  rebels  and  across  a  guarded  bridge  and  cause- 
way, I  thought  it  a  good  scheme.  He  had  a  pass  which  read: 
"  Pass  my  black  boy,  Sam,  and  carriage,"  and  was  signed  by 
a  colonel.  We  had  arranged  that  in  case  the  carriage  should 
be  stopped  and  questions  asked,  I  was  to  claim  to  be  a  rela- 
tive of  the  colonel  on  a  visit  to  the  family.  If  the  guard  at  the 
bridge  refused  to  let  me  go  over,  I  was  to  get  out  and  pre- 
tend to  be  waiting  for  the  return  of  the  carriage,  until  I  could 
secede.  But,  "The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men  gang 
aft  aglee."  After  waiting  all  one  day  and  one  night  for  this 
chance  to  ride  in  a  colonel's  coach,  it  turned  out  in  the  morn- 
ing when  we  were  about  ready  to  start  that  one  of  the  ladies 
of  the  family  had  concluded  to  ride  over  after  the  colonel. 
Had  I  been  better  clad  and  sufficiently  posted  as  to  what  regi- 
ments were  camped  beyond  the  river,  it  would  have  been  fine 
work,  and  feasible,  to  have  introduced  myself  to  this  family 
and  secured  a  ride  under  the  protection  of  the  pass.  As  it 
was,  I  had  no  time  for  preparation,  and  thought  best  to  try 
some  other  plan. 

I  remained  all  that  day  in  the  negro  quarters  where  two 
women  were  at  work  carding  and  spinning  wool.  About 
noon,  two  of  Wheeler's  cavalry  rode  up,  hitched  their  horses 
and  came  into  the  house  and  ordered  the  women  to  get  dinner 
for  them.  I  had  crawled  under  a  bed  when  these  men  ap- 
proached the  house.  One  of  them  said  he  had  been  up  all 
night  and  would  take  a  nap  while  the  dinner  was  cooking,  so 
he  came  into  the  room  where  I  was,  and  lay  down  on  the  bed 
that  I  was  under.  I  did  not  sleep  while  he  was  there. 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  21 1 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  I  resumed  my  journey  keeping 
the  traveled  road  that  led  to  the  river;  met  a  good  many  peo- 
ple, and  some  on  horse-back  overtook  and  passed  me.  None 
of  them  saw  me,  however. 

My  sense  of  hearing  had  become  so  acute  that  I  could 
hear  even  the  footsteps  of  a  man  long  before  I  could  distin- 
guish his  form  by  starlight,  while  the  gallop  of  a  horse,  I  ver- 
ily believe  I  could  hear,  when  listening  with  my  ear  to  the 
ground,  for  half  a  mile.  Once,  while  sleeping  in  the  woods  in 
the  daytime,  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  approaching  foot- 
steps and  on  looking  around,  saw  a  negro  at  least  a  hundred 
yards  away,  coming  with  my  dinner. 

I  had  resolved  that  night,  having  become  well  rested,  to 
cover  a  long  distance.  I  had  not  gone  far  when  I  came  to 
where  some  soldiers  had  camped  by  the  side  of  the  road.  I 
made  a  long  detour  in  the  woods  to  get  by  them,  and  when  I 
came  to  a  road,  supposed  it  was  the  same  I  had  been  on,  and 
walked  until  nearly  morning  before  rinding  out  that  the  sol- 
diers were  camped  where  two  roads  crossed,  and  that  the  one 
I  had  taken  ran  at  right  angles  to  the  way  I  wanted  to  go. 
Toward  morning,  I  found  a  large  number  of  negroes,  men 
women,  and  children,  sleeping  in  an  old  unused  store  building 
at  somebody's  corners.  They  had  been  brought  from  a  plan- 
tation near  Savannah  to  keep  them  from  running  away  to 
Sherman.  They  told  me  to  cross  the  Salkahatchie  and  travel 
down  the  west  side,  and  I  would  come  to  Sherman's  men, 
sure. 

The  next  night  I  traveled  to  within  a  mile  of  where  the 
rebels  under  Hardee  were  building  fortifications  and  guarding 
the  bridge  and  causeway  that  crossed  the  river  and  the  swamp. 
This  was  the  place  the  negro  had  proposed  to  take  me  over 


212  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

in  the  carriage.  I  think  he  called  it  Branson's  bridge.  After 
hiding  during  the  day  as  usual,  I  concluded  to  find  some  negro 
who  would  go  with  me  as  a  guide,  before  attempting  to  pass 
the  guards  and  cross  the  river. 

About  ii  o'clock  that  night  I  entered  the  cabin  of  an  old 
negro,  to  whom  I  had  been  directed,  and  sat  talking  with  him, 
by  the  fire,  when  four  or  five  "Johnnies"  opened  the  door 
without  knocking,  and  came  in.  They  were  from  a  camp 
near  by.  All  very  young.  I  began  at  once  to  ask  them  what 
regiment  they  belonged  to,  what  they  were  doing  out  so 
late,  and  to  the  immense  delight  of  the  old  negro,  who  was  at 
first  badly  scared,  I  kept  them  talking,  first  one  and  then 
another,  about  soldier  life,  and  Sherman,  until  they  were  ready 
to  go,  and  not  one  of  them  thought  of  asking  me  where  I 
belonged. 

These  men  wanted  to  buy  chickens  and  eggs,  and  the  old 
negro  hastened  their  departure  by  telling  them  to  come  right 
along  with  him  and  he  would  show  them  a  black  man 
who  would  take  them  to  a  plantation  where  there  were  plenty. 

On  his  return,  the  old  man  said  the  safest  way  to  cross 
the  river  was  to  go  south  to  where  it  spread  out,  and  formed 
what  was  called  Whippey  Swamp,  and  that  I  had  better 
not  try  it  without  having  some  black  man,  who  knew  the 
swamp  well,  for  a  guide.  He  then  went  with  me  several 
miles,  and  left  me  with  another  negro.  This  man  knew  of 
two  negroes,  who  had  been  brought  from  their  master's  home 
near  Savannah,  and  who  had  run  away,  and  were  now  trying 
to  get  back.  They  were  now  hiding  in  the  woods,  waiting 
for  a  night  dark  enough  to  enable  them  to  crawl  between  the 
guards  that  were  posted  all  along  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 
He  proposed  to  put  me  under  their  care. 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  213 

The  next  day  this  man  and  his  wife  (they  had  no 
children)  left  me  locked  up  in  their  cabin,  and  went  to  their 
work  in  some  field,  so  far  away  that  they  did  not  return  for 
dinner.  At  night  the  woman  came  back  alone,  saying  her 
husband  had  gone  to  find  out  about  the  runaways. 

I  had  eaten  supper,  and  was  enjoying  a  pipe  by  the  fire, 
when  we  were  startled  by  a  rapping  on  the  door.  The 
woman  had  locked  it,  by  pulling  the  latch  string  to  the  inside. 
In  other  words,  the  latch  string  wasn't  out.  To  her  question, 
"Who's  da'?"  the  answer  came:  "Soldiers,  aunty.  What 
you  got  yor  do'  fastened  fah?  Hurry  up  and  let  us  in."  She 
motioned  to  me  to  get  into  the  bedroom,  and  she  made  all  the 
noise  she  could,  so  that  mine  might  not  be  heard.  When  she 
opened  the  door  two  men  came  in.  Said  they  must  have 
some  washing  done,  and  despite  her  protests,  saying  she  had 
worked  hard  all  day,  and  couldn't  possibly  do  it,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  take  off  the  shirts  and  drawers  that  she  must  wash 
while  they  sat  by  the  fire  in  pants  and  coats.  They  paid  no 
attention,  whatever,  to  her  protests;  just  told  her  to  go  right 
along  and  do  it,  and  that  she  wouldn't  get  anything  for  it, 
either,  if  she  made  any  more  fuss  about  it. 

In  the  back  part  of  the  bedroom  there  was  a  kind  of  a 
window  —  a  square  opening  in  the  wall,  with  a  board  door 
hung  on  leather  hinges,  and  fastened  on  the  inside.  I  tried  to 
open  this  and  get  out,  but  the  door  fitted  into  the  frame  so  that  it 
would  not  open  without  noise.  The  woman  probably  heard 
the  noise,  and  understood  what  I  was  trying  to  do,  for  she 
came  into  the  bedroom  and  got  a  padlock  and  chain,  and 
proceeded  to  lock  the  bedroom  door  from  the  outside,  putting 
the  chain  through  a  crack  in  the  partition  and  hole  in  the 
door.  Under  cover  of  the  noise  she  made  I  pushed  the  back 


2i4  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

window  open  and  crawled  out.  She  soon  came  out  to  put 
her  kettle  on  for  the  washing,  such  work  usually  being  done 
out  of  doors,  and  gave  a  low  whistle.  This  I  answered,  and 
she  came  and  told  me  where  to  hide  until  her  husband 
returned. 

The  two  soldiers  belonged  to  some  general's  body-guard. 
The  general  had  put  up  for  the  night  at  the  white  folks'  house 
of  the  plantation,  and  the  guards  had  camped  in  the  yard. 
This  the  negro. learned  when  he  came  back  and  also  where 
they  were  from  and  all  about  them.  When  he  was  ready  to  start 
away  with  me  we  passed  along  by  their  camp  and  I  lit  my  pipe 
at  their  fire  and  talked  awhile  with  them.  Stated  to  them  that  I 
belonged  to  one  of  the  regiments  that  were  camped  up  at  the 
bridge  and  was  out  after  provision.  Partly  because  it  was  my 
mother  tongue  and  partly  by  practice,  I  had  learned  the 
we  'uns  and  you  'uns,  the  broad  a's  and  the  no  r's  until  as  this 
negro  and  many  others  told  me  there  was  no  danger  of  any 
one  suspecting  me  of  being  from  the  North. 

Accompanied  by  my  negro  guide,  I  walked  several  miles 
to  the  cabin  of  another  man  who  knew  where  the  runaways 
were  concealed.  There  I  had  to  wait  while  the  runaways 
were  sent  for. 

As  I  sat  by  the  big  log  fire  which  was  burning  in  the  old- 
fashioned  fire  place,  talking  to  a  lot  of  negroes  who  had  gath- 
ered there,  about  the  war,  the  Northern  army  and  the  procla- 
mation of  Lincoln,  that  freed  every  slave,  suddenly  and  with- 
out warning,  in  walked  the  master. 

He  was  a  tall  slender  man  with  gray  hair  and  long  gray 
beard,  a  typical  Southern  gentleman,  It  was  so  late  at  night 
that  we  had  not  expected  such  an  interruption  or  a  guard 
would  have  been  placed  to  give  warning.  I  had  noticed  the 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  215 

black  eyes  and  the  shining  white  teeth  of  several  little  pick- 
aninnies peeping  in  at  the  cracks  of  the  cabin,  a  little  while 
before,  but  did  not  apprehend  any  danger  from  them.  One 
had  gone  to  the  big  house  and  told  the  massa  that  there  was  a 
white  man  in  the  negro  house. 

Here  he  was,  anger  flashing  from  his  eyes  and  ready  to 
resent,  if  not  to  punish  a  violation  of  a  rigidly  enforced  South- 
ern rule.  No  white  man  was  allowed  to  enter  another's  negro 
quarter  without  the  consent  of  the  master. 

Knowing  this,  I  rose  instantly  and  before  the  old  man  had 
begun  to  vent  his  ire,  I  was  making  an  apology.  "You  must 
excuse  me,  sir,"  I  said  "for  being  in  your  negro  quarters  with- 
out your  permission.  I  belong  to  General 's  body  guard. 

We  are  camped  at  Mr.  -  —  's  plantation,  The  large  army 
under  Hurdee  near  there,  have  about  used  up  everything  on 
the  place  and  I  came  down  here  to  see  if  I  could  find  some 
chickens  and  eggs  for  my  mess.  I  thought  it  was  too  late  to 
disturb  you,  and  was  waiting  here  while  one  of  your  men  went 
to  hunt  up  some  provisions  for  me.  I  trust,  sir,  (the  old  man 
had  on  a  blue  Yankee  overcoat)  that  the  color  of  your  coat  does 
not  indicate  your  sentiments.  If  it  does,  you  will  have  to 
excuse  me  from  making  any  apology,  whatever." 

This  shot  struck  home.  The  old  man  straightened  up 
and  eloquently  repelled  the  insinuation.  He  related  with  pride 
the  sacrifices  he  had  made  to  defend  his  country  against  the 
hired  robbers  of  the  black  abolition  ruler.  He  had  sent  his  child- 
ren and  his  grandchildren.  All  of  his  kith  and  kin  able  to  bear 
arms  were  in  the  confederate  armies,  where  they  would  spill 
the  last  drop  of  their  blood,  rather  than  let  the  feet  of  the  ruth- 
less invader  trample  the  sacred  soil  of  South  Carolina.  "  This 
coat,  sir,  was  captured  in  honorable  combat  and  sent  to  me 


2i6  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

as  a  trophy  of  the  war.  As  such  I  am  proud  to  wear  it."  It 
was  easy  to  keep  the  old  gentleman  talking.  In  the  meantime, 
one  of  the  young  negroes  slipped  out  to  warn  those  who  had 
gone  after  the  runaways,  and  might  be  returning,  of  the  situation. 
When  the  old  man  had  talked  his  talk  out,  he  invited  me  to  go 
with  him  into  the  house  and  spend  the  night.  Said  he  had  a 
•relative  there  on  a  visit  who  was  a  young  man  and  a  soldier 
like  myself.  An  officer  of  Wheeler's  cavalry.  Thought  two 
soldiers  would  enjoy  visiting  together.  He  pressed  the  in- 
vitation in  truly  chivalrous  fashion.  I  regretted  very  much 
that  I  was  obliged  to  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  camp  and 
could  not  therefore  accept.  Then  he  pressed  me  to  just  come 
in  and  have  a  glass  of  peach  brandy  and  a  cigar.  To  get 
around  that,  I  pleaded  great  haste  and  promised  to  come  down 
the  next  day  and  call  on  his  relative  and  swap  war  stories  with 
him.  The  planter  returned  to  his  house  not  seemingly  well 
pleased,  and  I  did  not  linger  there  to  learn  the  effect  his 
report  might  have  on  the  visiting  officer  from  Wheeler's 
cavalry. 

I  was  then  taken  about  two  miles  and  put  in  charge  of  the  two 
runaway  negroes.  They  had  arranged  to  cross  the  swamp 
that  night.  Their  preparations  were  all  made.  They  had  an 
ax,  some  pitch  pine  torches,  and  had  selected  a  place  where 
there  were  weeds  and  brush,  to  cross  the  beat  of  the  rebel 
guard. 

We  passed  the  guard  and  gained  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 
Here  our  first  difficulty  was  the  thin  ice  that  had  formed  on 
all  of  the  still  water.  This  was  the  coldest  night  I  had 
experienced  in  that  state  and  the  only  one  that  I  remember 
being  cold  enough  to  freeze  ice  on  a  stream. 

To  break  this  ice  without  making  sufficient  noise  to  alarm 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  217 

the  guard,  rendered  our  progress  for  the  first  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  exceedingly  slow. 

When  fairly  into  the  swamp,  we  lit  the  pine  torches. 
Here  we  found  the  undergrowth  of  brush  and  vines 
almost  impenetrable.  The  water  was  from  two  to 
four  feet  over  that  part  of  the  swamp  that  would  have  been 
dry  ground  during  the  summer  season.  The  streams  where 
the  current  was  we  either  had  to  swim  or  bridge  by  cutting 
small  trees  and  falling  them  across  the  stream.  There  was  ice  to 
break  wherever  there  was  no  current.  We  were  soon  wet 
from  head  to  foot,  often  falling  in  the  matted  vines  and  some- 
times stepping  into  deep  holes.  One  of  the  negroes  was  of 
middle  age,  the  other  a  mere  boy.  A  hardy  man  used  to  ex- 
posure can  stand  an  hour  or  so  of  that  kind  of  work  and  call  it 
rather  tough,  but  a  whole  night's  struggle  through  thorns 
and  briars,  on  turning  logs  and  slippery  poles,  sometimes 
breaking  ice,  sometimes  swimming  in  ice-cold  water,  will  try 
the  endurance  of  the  toughest  man.  The  boy's  courage  soon 
gave  out.  When  we  came  to  a  small  island  where  there  was 
dry  ground,  he  lay  down,  and  declared,  his  limbs  shaking  and 
his  teeth  chattering  all  the  while,  that  "he  would  radda'  die 
right  den  and  da'  dan  to  go  eny  fudda'."  He  would  not  be  per- 
suaded and  we  could  not  carry  him.  The  man  cut  a  good, 
withy  switch  and  warmed  his  jacket. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  we  got  over,  so  numbed  and 
stiffened  with  cold  that  we  could  scarcely  move.  We  had 
kept  a  torch  burning,  otherwise  we  could  not  have  built  a  fire. 
I  thought  I  never  would  get  warm,  that  my  teeth  would  never 
cease  to  chatter,  nor  my  body  to  ache.  I  stayed  by  that  fire 
all  day,  striving,  in  vain,  to  get  warm.  At  night  a  negro, 
sent  by  the  runaways,  took  me  to  his  cabin,  and  doctored  me 


2i8  THE    SMOKED  TANK. 

up  with  pepper  tea  and  hot  victuals,  then  wrapped  in  quilts 
and  hid  in  a  fodder  house,  I  remained  that  night,  and  the  next 
day.  I  did  not  deem  it  prudent  to  keep  in  company  with  the 
runaways,  because,  if  captured  with  them  I  would  surely  be 
killed,  and  I  could  not  be  seen  with  them  by  any  white  man 
without  his  suspicions  being  aroused. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"THE  GIRL  I  LEFT  BEHIND    ME"   —THE  GRAND    OLD    FLAG  AND 
THE  BOYS  IN  BLUE 1  AM  DUBBED  "SMOKED  YANK." 

I  was  now  on  the  west  side  of  the  Salkahatchie,  between 
thirty  and  forty  miles  from  Pocotalago,  where  a  portion  of 
Sherman's  army  was  in  camp.  There  were  no  more  rivers 
or  swamps  in  my  way  and  there  was  a  well  traveled  road  to 
follow,  but  there  were  swarms  of  rebel  cavalry  and  rebel 
citizens  all  around  me,  watching  for  the  approach  of  Sherman's 
army,  picking  up  deserters  and  moving  their  slaves  and  other 
property  to  more  secure  places.  There  were  white  men  on 
guard  at  every  plantation  and  the  negroes  were  in  such  a  state 
of  anxiety  and  terror,  and  so  suspicious  of  a  white  man,  that  I 
found  it  almost  impossible  to  communicate  with  them.  They 
seemed  afraid  to  talk  with  me  or  to  help  me  in  any  way,  lest 
I  should  turn  out  to  be  a  spy,  seeking  to  betray  them. 

I  was  obliged  to  use  the  utmost  caution  and  to  travel  only 
by  day  because  I  could  get  no  guide,  and  if  I  traveled  at 
night,  I  could  not  tell  where  or  when  I  might  run  on  to  the 
patrols  or  ambushed  guards.  Wearily  and  stealthily  I  crept 
along  the  edge  of  the  swamp  a  mile  or  so  from  the  road,  mak- 
ing only  ten  or  twelve  miles  in  a  day.  Often  when  I  could 
not  find  cotton  or  fodder  in  which  to  hide,  I  had  to  shiver  with 
cold  all  night.  The  last  three  or  four  days  were  the  most  dif- 
ficult and  trying  of  my  journey.  I  did  not  get  food  but  two 


320  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

or  three  times  and  I  hardly  slept  at  all,  but  the  thought  of 
freedom  now  so  near  nerved  me  up  and  in  a  measure  com- 
pensated for  lack  of  food  and  sleep. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  of  February  ist,  I 
began  to  hear  a  rumbling  sound  which  I  knew  must  be  made 
by  loaded  wagons,  moving  on  the  road.  Whether  they 
belonged  to  retreating  rebel  or  an  advancing  Union  army  I 
could  not  tell,  and  I  dared  not  take  the  risk  of  finding  out. 

About  noon  as  I  was  moving  cautiously  along,  peering 
in  all  directions  from  behind  one  tree  before  slipping  to 
another,  suddenly  there  burst  upon  my  listening  ears,  the  joy- 
ous notes  of  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  played  by  a  full 
brass  band.  I  knew  that  there  was  no  rebel  army  with  brass 
bands  in  that  vicinity,  and  I  started  on  a  full  run  toward  the 
welcome  sound. 

Reader,  I  can  but  faintly  describe  to  you  the  kaleidoscopic 
pictures  which  flashed  across  my  mental  vision  during  those 
supreme  moments,  as  I  ran,  with  hope  before  and  fear  behind. 
Home,  father,  mother,  brother,  sisters,  the  grand  old  flag,  the 
boys  in  blue,  these,  for  an  instant  before  me,  and  my  feet 
seemed  to  spurn  the  passing  ground — then,  as  the  deeds  of  a 
lifetime  rush  together  into  the  memory  of  a  drowning  man  — 
there  rose  up  every  scene  that  I  had  witnessed,  or  heard 
described,  of  the  tortures  inflicted  on  escaped  prisoners  brought 
back;  the  tearing  by  blood  hounds,  the  hanging  by  the  thumbs, 
the  agonies  of  the  stocks;  these  behind,  and  I  would  turn  in 
mortal  terror,  almost  hearing  the  halt!  halt!  of  dreaded  pur- 
suers. Thus,  with  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  fear,  I  ran  on 
for  nearly  a  mile  through  thick  woods.  Coming  to  an  opening 
in  the  woods  I  climbed  on  to  a  fallen  tree,  and  there  across  a 
field,  marching  in  the  road,  with  band  playing,  and  colors 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  221 

flying,  go  the  boys  in  blue.  I  take  off  my  hat  and  try  to 
shout.  I  cannot.  My  heart  is  in  my  throat.  My  strength  is 
gone.  I  recline  against  the  limbs  of  the  tree,  and  sob  and  cry 
like  a  child,  and  wonder  whether  my  strength  will  come  back, 
or  whether  I  must  sit  there  helplessly,  and  let  that  army 
go  by. 

There  was  a  slough  in  front  of  me,  across  that  a  house, 
and  a  road  leading  from  the  house  down  the  side  of  the  field 
to  the  road  where  the  army  was  marching.  Two  men  ride 
up  to  the  house,  and  as  they  see  me,  and  draw  their  revolvers, 
my  strength  returns.  I  throw  up  my  hands  and  call  to  them 
not  to  shoot,  that  I  am  an  escaped  prisoner. 

These  men  belonged  at  the  headquarters  of  Hazen's 
division  of  the  Fifteenth  Army  Corps.  One  of  them  was  an 
orderly,  and  the  other,  Pete  McDowell,  was  quartermaster. 
McDowell  was  from  LaCrosse,  Wisconsin,  where  one  of  the 
companies  of  my  regiment  was  enlisted,  and  I  had  no  trouble 
in  satisfying  him  that  I  was  what  I  represented  myself  to  be. 
They  secured  for  me  a  place  to  ride,  and  I  camped  that  night 
with  General  Hazen's  orderlies.  These  were  all  young  men, 
about  my  own  age,  and  they  treated  me  with  great  kindness. 
They  sat  up  that  night  until  a  late  hour,  listening  to  my 
account  of  prison  life,  and  of  my  escape.  One  of  them,  a 
bright  young  man,  who  was  General  Hazen's  private  orderly, 
and  who  was  nick-named  Stammy,  because  he  stammered, 
declared  that  I  had  earned  the  garter,  and  he  insisted  on 
performing  the  ceremony  of  knighthood  before  I  went  to  bed. 
He  had  noticed  my  unavailing  efforts  to  remove  with  soap 
and  water  the  effects  of  pitch-pine  smoke  from  my  hands  and 
face,  and  so,  drawing  his  sword,  he  delivered  an  impromptu, 


222  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

humorous  harangue,  slapped  me  on  the  back  with  the  flat  of 
the  blade,  and  dubbed  me  "  The  Smoked  Yank" 

I  kept  no  diary  from  the  i8th  of  January  to  the  ist  of 
February,  because  I  lost  my  pencil  and  could  not  get  another. 
The  morning  after  reaching  the  army,  I  wrote  "February  2." 

"The  army  was  in  motion  early  this  morning.  I  had 
breakfast — never  knew  before  how  much  I  liked  coffee — 
then  rode  with  Stammy,  General  Hazen's  orderly,  up  to  Gen- 
eral Sherman's  headquarters.  I  reported  to  the  adjutant-gen- 
eral. The  general  was  standing  near,  heard  me,  and  took 
me  into  his  room.  He  seemed  very  much  concerned  about 
the  condition  of  the  prisoners  at  Florence.  He  made  notes  on 
a  map  of  all  that  I  could  tell  him  about  the  rebel  armies  and 
the  places  where  I  had  crossed  the  large  streams  and  swamps. 
He  said  that  some  ambulances  would  go  back  to  Pocotaligo  to- 
day and  that  I  could  go  with  them  and  go  home,  or  could  go 
with  the  army  to  the  sea  again,  and  then  go  home.  I  told 
him  I  preferred  to  remain  with  the  army.  He  called  the  ad- 
jutant and  told  him  to  see  that  I  was  provided  for.  The  ad- 
jutant said  he  would  get  me  a  horse  and  arms  and  that  I  could 
join  the  escort.  I  prefer  to  remain  with  the  boys  at  Hazen's 
headquarters  with  whom  I  am  already  acquainted." 

I  rode  that  day  with  Stammy  in  a  two-horse  carriage  which 
he  had  captured,  and  was  taking  along,  as  he  said,  to  give  the 
old  man  (meaning  Hazen,)  a  ride  once  in  awhile.  Stammy  was 
the  pet  of  the  division.  I  still  wore  my  rebel  jacket,  the 
same  that  Barrett  took  from  me,  but  which  I  had  recovered 
before  leaving  Florence.  As  we  rode  along  every  now  and 
then  some  soldier  would  call  out  and  say,  "  Hello  there,  Stammy! 
Where  did  you  get  that  Johnnie?  "  Stammy  would  say,  "Th- 
th-is  a-a-int  n-n-no  J-J-Johnnie,  th-th-is  is  a  Smo-o-ked  Yank." 


THE  SMOKED   TANK.  223 

In  this  way  he  introduced  me  all  along  the  line,  and  Smoked 
Tank  was  the  only  name  I  was  known  by  in  that  army. 

Within  a  few  days  I  secured  a  horse,  revolver,  and  carbine, 
and  began  to  take  part  in  the'  great  march.  My  regiment 
was  not  with  Sherman's  army,  and  I  was,  therefore,  a  detach- 
ment of  myself,  commanded  only  by  myself.  I  got  acquainted 
with  Howard's  scouts  and  rode  with  them  whenever  they  had 
work  to  do  that  I  cared  to  take  part  in,  but  whether  with 
them  or  with  the  common  "bummers,"  I  was  always  at  the 
head  of  one  or  the  other  of  the  columns.  The  following  is  a 
sample  from  my  note  book: 

'•'•Feb.  9.  Second  Division,  i5th  Corps,  reached  the  south 
branch  of  the  Edisto  to-day.  The  bridge  had  been  partly 
destroyed-  Some  logs  were  piled  up  on  the  other  side  form- 
ing a  kind  of  breastwork.  Myself  and  three  others  were  on 
the  advance.  It  looked  as  though  there  might  be  rebs  behind 
the  logs.  I  left  my  horse  and  crawled  along  on  the  inside  of  a 
corn-field  fence  to  find  out.  About  eighty  yards  from  the  logs 
I  stopped  behind  a  clump  of  china  trees.  As  I  lay  there  on 
the  ground  watching,  I  saw  a  man's  head  over  the  logs.  I 
was  just  drawing  a  bead  on  him,  when  about  twenty  rebels 
arose  with  a  yell  and  fired  at  me.  The  balls  struck  all  around 
me  and  sent  the  bark  flying  from  the  trees.  They  called  out. 
"  Come  in  you  \  ank !  Come  in  you  Yank  !"  There  was 
enough  of  the  bridge  left  for  a  man  to  cross  on.  I  had  no 
notion  of  coming  in.  As  soon  as  our  boys  farther  back  began 
to  fire,  the  rebs  dodged  down,  and  I  got  up  and  ran  through 
the  corn-field.  They  fired  on  me  again,  but  I  was  not  hit, 
though  it  was  a  close  call  —  shall  be  more  careful  hereafter." 

The  night  before  the  city  of  Columbia  was  captured, 
Hazen's  division  camped  pear  the  river  opposite  the  city.  The 


224  THE  SMOKED  TANK. 

rebels  shelled  us  during  the  night.  I  slept  that  night  near 
Hazen's  tent  with  my  head  against  the  body  of  a  large  tree. 
In  the  morning  before  I  had  made  my  toilet,  General  Logan 
rode  up  to  see  Hazen.  As  he  sat  on  his  horse  near  my  tree 
waiting  for  Hazen  to  dress  and  come  out,  a  cannon-ball  passed 
through  the  top  of  the  tree  cutting  off  some  limbs.  Hazen 
came  out  of  his  tent,  and  Logan,  who  was  in  a  jovial  mood, 
with  a  gesture  toward  the  city,  said:  "Hail,  Columbia, 
happy  land,  if  this  town  aint  burned,  then  I'll  be  damned!" 

A  little  while  after  I  saw  Logan  again.  He  had  a  rifled 
cannon  in  a  road  that  led  to  one  of  the  burned  bridges.  When 
the  gunners  had  the  cannon  loaded,  Logan  would  sight  it  then 
climb  on  to  the  high  bank  beside  the  road,  adjust  his  field- 
glass,  give  the  order  to  fire,  and  watch  to  see  where  the  ball 
would  strike.  If  I  remember  rightly,  he  was  aiming  at  the 
State  House,  and  aiming  well,  for  he  would  wave  his  hat  and 
call  for  three  cheers  for  South  Carolina  after  each  discharge. 
He  was  having  a  high  old  time. 

When  the  pontoon  bridge  was  ready  I  crossed  it  with 
Howard's  scouts  and  rode  into  the  city.  We  were  the  first 
into  the  city  and  saw  many  rebel  soldiers,  officers  and  men, 
taking  leave  of  their  friends. 

That  night  the  great  fire  broke  out  which  destroyed  a 
large  portion  of  that  beautiful  capital,  and  left  thousands  of 
people  houseless  and  homeless.  Many  of  these  applied  for 
permission  to  accompany  our  army  when  we  continued  our 
march.  They  were  called  refugees,  and  were  divided  up 
among  the  divisions  of  the  i5th  corps.  General  Hazen  asked 
me  to  take  charge  of  the  refugee  train  that  was  assigned  to  his 
division.  I  did  so.  Ten  infantrymen  were  detailed  as  guards 
and  foragers  and  placed  under  my  orders,  and  I  was  instructed 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  225 

to  subsist  my  command  from  the  commissary  department  of 
the  enemy.  I  soon  had  the  infantrymen  well  mounted  on 
captured  mules  and  horses,  and  while  I  had  charge  of  them, 
Hazen's  refugees  did  not  suffer  for  anything  that  the  state  of 
South  Carolina  could  furnish.  There  were  some  old  men, 
but  the  greater  portion  of  these  refugees  were  women  and 
children.  Among  those  in  my  train  were  the  wife  and  two 
charming  daughters  of  a  Lieutenant  Thompson,  who  was  one 
of  the  officers  at  Florence  prison  at  the  time  I  escaped. 

At  Fayetteville,  N.  C.,  General  Sherman  issued  an  order 
requiring  all  of  the  refugees  and  escaped  prisoners  to  go  with 
an  infantry  regiment  down  the  Cape  Fear  river  to  Wilming- 
ton. I  started  with  the  rest,  supposing  that  I  would  have 
charge  of  my  train  as  before.  We  traveled  until  noon  and 
then  stopped  for  dinner.  I  rode  up  to  the  officer  who  had 
been  placed  in  command  and  made  some  inquiries.  He  in- 
formed me  that  the  refugees  from  that  time  on  must  forage 
for  themselves.  I  suggested  that  it  would  be  better  to  have 
a  party  of  infantrymen  mounted,  and  undertook  to  tell  him 
how  the  refugee  trains  had  previously  been  managed.  He 
cut  me  short,  and  in  a  pompous  manner  ordered  me  to  go 
back  where  I  belonged,  saying  he  would  send  for  me  when  he 
needed  advice.  My  recollection  is,  that  Sherman  had  sent 
this  officer  away  from  the  army  because  his  services  were  not 
considered  indispensable.  Not  caring  to  serve  under  such  a 
commander,  I  rode  back  that  night  and  reported  to  General 
Hazen  the  next  morning. 

From  Fayetteville  to  Goldsboro,  the  rebel  General  John- 
son was  in  our  front  and  on  our  left  flank,  and  there  was  con- 
siderable fighting  every  day.  During  the  battle  of  Bentons- 
ville  my  desire  to  see  the  fighting  led  me  too  far  to  the  front, 


226  THE    SMOKED  TANK. 

and  I  came  near  being  gobbled  up  by  a  squad  of  rebel  cavalry 
that  I  ran  on  to  in  some  thick  woods.  Reaching  a  safe  posi- 
tion, concluded  to  find  General  Sherman,  so  as  to  see  how  a 
great  commander  would  act  while  a  battle  was  in  progress.  I 
found  him  and  his  staff  in  the  yard  in  front  of  a  farm  house. 
The  general  was  walking  back  and  forth  in  the  shade  of  some 
large  trees.  When  not  receiving  messages  and  sending  orders 
he  acted  like  a  very  nervous  and  greatly  excited  man.  He  had 
a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  stepping  up  to  an  officer  who  was 
smoking,  asked  him  for  a  light.  The  officer  handed  him  his 
cigar.  As  the  general  lit  his  own  cigar  he  seemed  to  be  list- 
ening to  the  noise  of  the  battle.  Suddenly  he  turned,  dropped 
the  officer's  cigar  on  the  ground,  and  walked  off  puffing  his 
own.  The  officer  looked  at  him  a  moment  then  laughed, 
picked  up  the  cigar  and  continued  his  smoke. 

When  we  reached  Goldsboro,  I  learned  from  General 
Hazen  that  Sherman  was  going  to  City  Point  to  meet  General 
Grant,  and  that  the  army  would  probably  remain  sometime  in 
camp.  I  concluded  to  go  .home.  I  had  a  fine  English  fox- 
hunter  mare  that  I  had  captured  on  the  march.  She  was  the 
best  riding  horse  I  had  ever  ridden,  and  very  handsome.  Gen- 
eral Sherman's  adjutant-general  had  noticed  and  admired  my 
horse,  and  when  I  learned  that  Sherman  was  about  to  go  to 
City  Point,  I  told  the  adjutant-general  that  if  he  would  arrange 
so  that  I  could  go  home  from  Goldsboro  on  the  first  train, 
that  I  would  make  him  a  present  of  the  fox-hunter.  He  so 
arranged,  and  I  left  Goldsboro  on  the  train  which  took  Sherman 
and  some  of  his  staff  to  New  Berne.  From  there  I  proceeded 
to  Washington,  where  through  the  influence  of  the  letters  pro- 
vided for  me  by  the  adjutant-general,  I  secured  at  the  war 
department  without  delay,  back  pay,  commutation  of  rations 


THE  SMOKED  TANK.  227 

and  clothing  for  the  time  I  was  in  prison,  and  transportation 
home.  A  few  days  after  my  strange  dream  came  true,  ex- 
cept that  I  met  my  father  first  on  the  hill. 

THE    END. 


; 


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